Both Sides, Now
by Well-Well
Summary: A lot can change in 24 hours. A routine movie night turns tense when, while discussing a yet unsolved case, Maura suggests that she and Jane have a similar relationship to that of the dead victim and her lover. Jane reacts poorly, but when the murderer suddenly appears, more than their friendship is at stake. Even if they manage to smooth things over, will it be in vain? Rizzles.
1. What About You and I

Hi all. I haven't posted anything on the site for a while. I've left like three stories unattended for a couple years… which I feel guilty about. But I just recently got into Rizzoli and Isles and this story was practically begging to be written.

Some of the stories I read where Jane and Maura finally get together strike me as unrealistic. Like when the author jumps into the nitty-gritty right after declarations are made, or the characters come to terms with their feelings for one another a little too quickly. Of course I'm not saying I don't enjoy those stories—I definitely do. I just think that Jane and Maura are a little more complex than that, and I wanted to write something that explored the actual difficulty involved with discovering a part of yourself you never thought you would.

Hence, this. Comments, questions, concerns, and critiques are always welcome.

Most importantly, enjoy!

So, without further ado, Rizzles with a twist!

…

Chapter 1: What About You and I

…

Jane didn't know whether she feared more for her life or her sanity. She expected to fear the former, but her mind was completely preoccupied with something ludicrous. No, beyond ludicrous. This certainly wasn't how she pictured her life ending. She wasn't particularly frightened, full of regrets, or hoping for some kind of rescue. She was just frustrated, and confused. Maura was turned away toward the other side of the trunk, but Jane suspected she might be in the same boat… or the same trunk of a deranged perp's car, so to speak. Thinking back on it, Jane couldn't really figure out where things had turned so… so weird.

Maura's place. Last night. Jane shut her eyes tightly, trying to remember. In the back of her mind, she noted the irony. Her last bit of detective work might be figuring out herself.

Maura's own thoughts were not far off. She was reliving that conversation as well, in hopes of stumbling over whatever it was that had so quickly changed everything.

…

Jane remembered Matthew Macfayden's face frozen with a somewhat unflattering, twisted expression. The DVD had been paused for half an hour now, its three-and-a-half star contents the last thing on the minds of detective and coroner. This happened a lot on their movie nights. One would make a comment regarding a case, friend, or a date, the other would respond, and a conversation would begin.

If the movie was good or one of Jane's particular favorites, she would resist the lure of these comfortable conversations, often trying to wrest the remote from Maura's hands to no avail. After laughter subsided or a short tussle tired them both out, the conversation would begin anyway. Not that Jane ever really minded. The movies would always be the same. These conversations, though, were unique every time, and priceless. Jane treasured each one she had with her best friend. She would never admit that to Maura though. Instead, she teasingly accused the doctor of selecting horrible movies for the sole purpose of forcing a dialogue out of sheer boredom. Maura rarely denied it.

Last night, about twenty minutes into the movie, a conversation did start, this time about the current case. A teenage girl named Trisha was found hanging dead in her apartment. Initially, it appeared to be a suicide, but further analysis of the scene revealed one partial fingerprint on the chair kicked out from beneath the dead body that didn't belong to the victim or family, as well as tiny bits of skin left in the coarse fibers of the homemade noose that belonged to a male. Of course, Jane's first thought was a boyfriend. But the teenager was lesbian.

Trisha's ex, Amy Welsh, 18, had broken up with her two weeks earlier. Trisha had allegedly made out with a boy at a party. Someone put a picture up on the internet, and Amy found out and broke it off. But her alibi was solid. Trisha had been desperate to win Amy back, the ex said. _She said it was a misunderstanding, but it's hard to argue with photographic evidence, you know?_ she'd muttered during the interrogation. The teen, well, really a young woman, looked ashen and defeated. _I told her I needed space. I told her that I just couldn't forgive her, not then._

Jane had studied her suspect's face carefully before asking, _Weren't you angry that she had kissed someone else?_

_Angry?_ There was no denying the hurt and guilt in her eyes. _I was heartbroken. We'd been together since… like the end of middle school. We came out together. We practically lived together. We were each other's purpose. With us, it was just like, we knew. We really knew._

_You knew,_ Jane had repeated, trying to decipher her words. _…That you were lesbian?_

_It's not like that,_ the girl had said into a sigh. _It's not like we were anti-labels or anything, but we didn't think about it that way. We knew that we were right for each other. I mean, the attraction was there but it wasn't about both of us being girls, it was just about us._ She has dragged her tired, bloodshot eyes up from the table to meet Jane's dark ones. _I didn't kill her. I needed her—I need her now. I just wanted time to cool off. I never thought she would kill herself! I would do anything to get her back…_

Jane heard her name and was wrenched from her memories, back on Maura's couch. There was Matthew's face on the big plasma screen TV. Jane glanced over at her friend who was watching her with one eyebrow lifted in curiosity.

"Are you thinking about the case?" Maura asked politely.

Jane flashed her a quick smile. "Yeah." She pushed back into the couch and threw her arms up in a stretch, adding with a smirk "Good guess."

Maura _hmphed_ and raised her chin indignantly. "_That_ was a question, not a guess. And I do not guess, Jane." She paused, waiting for the usual rebuttal, but none came. She glanced back at her dark haired friend to find that her expression had turned serious again. She waited, but Jane's eyes were so focused, it was as if she were trying to burn holes through Maura's newly purchased antique French cherrywood coffee table. That wouldn't do. "What's bothering you?" she pressed when Jane remained silent.

"I just don't get it," Jane muttered. "Two weeks apart from your lover and you're ready to fake committing suicide to win her back?"

"Mm." Maura thought for a moment. "There could be many explanations for that kind of behavior. She may have a history of mental illness. Or perhaps this traumatic event triggered a latent anxiety disorder, which lapsed into a depression that led to the suicide attempt."

Jane made a face. "Maybe, but I believe Amy's account of her mental stability. I think she said Trisha could be a little dramatic, 'but she was never—like, ever—depressed!'" Jane imitated the young woman's valley girl accent, rolling her eyes. But the detective's expression lit up as she replayed Maura's words in her head. "Wait, you said 'attempt'… not just suicide, but suicide _attempt_. So you _do_ think a buddy of hers maybe helped her out a little!"

"I think no such thing," Maura said decidedly. "I have to do more testing on the skin before I can draw that kind of conclusion, and all we can determine about the partial print without a new suspect's print is that it wasn't Amy's, Trisha's, or any immediate family. As it stands, everything was in place, with her prints where they would be expected, for her to have committed suicide by herself."

Jane sighed. "Maybe that's true. But the owner of that print killed her, Maura, I know it. If Frost could just get into her computer, we could figure out if what her mother said is true, about the websites." Trisha's mother said she had caught her daughter surfing some kind of sites about how to win an ex back just two days before she was found dead, but she couldn't remember the name of the page and there were thousands of win-them-back sites out there. If they could just find out which pages she visited, who she came into contact with… But after her mother found out, the information stored on her computer was encrypted, either by Trisha or someone else. Whoever it was added password protection overkill. "I can't believe it's been this long and _still_ no new leads… ugh!"

Maura reached over and gave Jane's shoulder a quick pat. "Frost is working on it as fast as he can."

Jane shook her head. "Not fast enough. This bastard is going to get away."

Maura opened her mouth with another attempt to reassure Jane, but something in the detective's expression gave her pause and she changed course. "If I can ask, Jane, why is this case in particular getting to you?"

"What?" The detective gave Maura a dismissive look. "It's not… getting to me."

"Oh? It isn't?"

"No."

"Jane."

Jane released an aggravated breath and threw Maura a glare. "Why you always gotta do that?"

"Do what, exactly?" Maura asked innocently, returning Jane's gaze evenly.

It quickly became a staring contest, but Maura's concerned, curious expression was unrelenting and Jane's heavy glare gradually subsided into a pensive, frustrated frown. "See right through me…" she finally mumbled. She crossed her arms and glanced back at the coffee table.

"It's what I do," Maura said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "So what about it is really bothering you?"

"It's just…" Jane looked stubbornly at Maura hoping to further deflect, then threw her arms up in defeat. "Fine. It's just I don't get the intensity of the feelings behind this case. It's like a case of teenage drama gone horribly wrong. I mean, these guys are kids!"

"Well they are, or were, technically adults. Boston law states that people over the age of 18 are to be considered—"

"I know, I know Maur," Jane cut her off. "But when they were both in middle school, when their primary concerns should have been math homework and summer camps, and-and slumber parties and cartoons, these girls were already together! They were making grown-up decisions about their lives, they were…"

"Figuring themselves out?" Maura supplied.

"I guess."

"What's so upsetting about that?"

Jane struggled to find words for her feelings. "How are they, how is _anyone_ supposed to know what they want at 12 or 13 years? They're just babies and they were already committed. Committed to the point that a break up meant measures as drastic as setting up a fake suicide to… to what? Scare poor Amy into getting back together with her again?"

"Well," Maura considered, adjusting her position and resting her arms in her lap, "You are interpreting her methods as illogical—"

"Just plain stupid, is more like it," Jane inserted.

"'Stupid, then, but, though we will never know for sure, she might have interpreted her own methods as a display of what Amy meant to her. Sending a message like, 'I can't live without you' or, 'my life is meaningless like this.' If the message had been delivered the way she had intended, Amy might have understood an entirely different meaning. That's the beauty of human language. We only have so many phonemes to compose the morphemes that code our language, but combine that with body language, symbolism, and the individual human experience and you get almost an infinite amount of interpretations…" Maura trailed off when she caught the look on Jane's face, suppressing a smile. "I'm just saying that your interpretation is valid, but not necessarily applicable to Trisha and Amy's situation."

Jane sniffed in response. The room was quiet for a minute or so while the detective thought about what Maura had said. Maura folded her legs onto the couch as she studied the changing emotions on Jane's face. The silence stretched on until Jane, almost under her breath, murmured, "I've lived my whole life, twice as long as the victim and her ex, and… I've never had a boyfriend who I was _that_ attached to."

Maura rounded her mouth into an 'O' with understanding. She gave it some thought before suggesting, "Well, that's okay… perhaps you haven't met that guy yet."

"Gee, may_be_," Jane began sarcastically, "You're absolutely right! One day Mr. Perfect is going to waltz into my life. He's going to love me and what I do and he's going to know how to function with Ma in the picture. And he won't ever get on my nerves. But that'll be easy because none of the guys I've dated _ever_ get on my nerves, right Maura? You know that from all the griping I _don't_ do about them."

Maura was taken aback by the venom in Jane's response, but she decided that the anger was just a way for Jane to vent. The doctor chose not to take it personally and tried a different approach. "Okay, I understand why that might seem dubious. But those kinds of feelings don't have to apply to a man. What about your family? The feeling might be slightly different, but it comes from a very similar place."

Jane shrugged. "I would be sad, sure, if they wanted to cut off ties, but lose my purpose?"

"What about you and I?"

Jane snapped her mouth shut, staring at Maura for just a second before turning away. Now it looked like she was trying to blow the coffee table up, her averted gaze was so intense. Maura's words hung around thickly in the room like a fog. The doctor had no idea where they had come from—they had slipped out of her mouth before she'd had time to process them. But they had been said. Now Jane's discomfort made Maura tense and nervous. Even after realizing what she'd said, Maura hadn't thought the words were such a big deal. But the distress radiating from Jane's side of the couch made her realize yes, they were a big deal. Why?

_What about you and I?_ Jane swallowed audibly in the thick quiet of the room and let out a nervous laugh. The silenced stretched on so thinly that Jane couldn't take it. She stood quickly. "Hey Maur, I'm pretty tired. I think I'm going to hit the sack." As an afterthought, she added a quiet, "Sorry."

"Oh… okay." Maura watched her friend pad towards the hallway. "Well, goodnight…"

"Night," came Jane's quick reply. Her footsteps faded, and then the guestroom door closed.

Maura stared absently at Matthew's face. _How did I upset her?_ She felt suddenly hollow and her throat went dry when a new thought came to her. _Have I… ruined our relationship?_ She was boggled. How could she have possibly ruined the relationship by asking that question? She felt a sudden rush of gamma aminobutyric acid flood her system—anxiety.

Hitting a mental roadblock, Maura stood, She cleared away some dishes and tidied up the kitchen and living room. She was hoping Jane might come back out, might offer some sort of explanation to help Maura figure out just what went wrong. But she didn't. Eventually, Maura wandered into her room and changed into silk pajamas, brushed her teeth and her hair, and crawled into her bed.

_What about you and I?_

Maura had posed the question, but only in the darkness of her room did she consider answering it. What about Maura and Jane? Well, they were best friends, certainly. They relied on each other to varying degrees for all kinds of things. Did Maura _need_ Jane the way Amy needed Trisha? Maura stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded that she wasn't able to produce a simple yes or no. But after another mental roadblock, her brain produced a stark _no_. _My body functions independently from Jane's,_ Maura reasoned. _My metabolism is regulated with sustenance, exercise, and sleep. I do not need Jane for these things. She bears no weight on the healthy continuation of my life_. Maura frowned at the ceiling, dissatisfied with her own explanation. It seemed logically true, but she knew it was false.

She knew from experience that the thought of being without Jane made her physically ill. Maura quickly directed her memory away from that awful day, the gun, the gunshot echoing in the street and echoing in Maura's head for so much longer. No, it wouldn't do her any good to remember. But yes, the thought that Jane's life might end did affect her, both mentally and physically. _It's been shown in studies that humans suffer from lack of social interaction,_ she reasoned in this new direction. _Seeing as I am an outlier in terms of levels of comfort around people, the fact that I can maintain a healthy, stable relationship with Jane has added a level of social stability to my life that reduced much of the damage done during my childhood when… when I had no friends at all_. Even halfway through the thought, Maura knew it wasn't accurate. Or, it was only partly accurate.

_Jane isn't just a 'stable relationship' that provides me with social stimuli!_ Maura chastised herself angrily. _She's… she's…_ Maura shut her eyes tight when a new memory clawed its way out from the darkest recesses of her mind. She couldn't decide which had been worse; the pain from the taser, or the knowledge that Hoyt was about to destroy Jane. Maura nearly gagged, shoving the memory back where it came from. It had made its point, but left her feeling terrified, and alone. It had been a long time since Maura had let an image from that day surface in her mind. She swallowed hard. Jane. She needed… to talk to Jane.

…

_Continued in chapter 2, A Complicatedly Simple Animal_


	2. A Complicatedly Simple Animal

Hello all! Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. I had actually written out the entire story before posting, but I realized after posting the first chapter that the rest of the story needed quite a bit of embellishing.

Anywhozles, I believe it was Lisa A. who made a comment about the title, _Both Sides, Now_. For those of you who might not know, it's the title of a Joni Mitchell song. She has two very popular versions, the original, older version in which her voice has a higher pitch with a guitar accompaniment, and a newer version that "Love, Actually" lovers might be familiar with. Snape's wife (because I can't remember his or her name in the movie and what's-his-face is eternally Snape to me now) gets a Joni Mitchell album for Christmas instead of the necklace she was expecting and she listens to a beautifully orchestrated version of Both Sides, Now while she comes to terms with what this means for her.

This second version, in which Mitchell's voice has a deeper, slightly richer quality to it, was my soundtrack for writing most of this. I highly recommend those of you who don't know it to check it out on youtube (from the album Both Sides, Now)—great, timeless song. This story is about changing perceptions, and I think Mitchell captures that in a beautiful nutshell.

Moving on, here's chapter 2! As always, I hope you all enjoy.

…

Chapter 2: A Complicatedly Simple Animal

…

_What about you and I?_

Maura's simple voicing of the question. Jane's far-from-simple utter _lack_ of response.

Jane shoved her face into a pillow to muffle her angry growl. She had crawled into bed, hoping to sleep this issue away, but of course that had failed. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. This wasn't how their conversations _ever_ went. Jane had fucked up big time. It's not that she thought Maura would refuse to forgive her for running out like that. No, of course Maura would understand… with a proper explanation. What was sorely fucking everything up was that explanation. One Jane was reticent to offer, or even think about.

_Why didn't I just…_ Jane toyed with the frilly lace edging one of the guest bed's decorative pillows as she mulled. She loved Maura, she loved her friendship with Maura. Of course losing her would tear Jane apart. Maura was… a voice of reason, a friend she could always count on, her _best_ friend. That would have been the easy, obvious thing to say. That would have moved the discussion right along. Instead, the brilliant detective had to go freeze up and duck out of the room to avoid her own internal awkwardness, like the time Ma had tried to give her the sex talk. Jane shuddered at the memory of _that_ disaster. And now Jane ran away from her best friend who clearly had no idea what was so wrong about her question!

"Damn it, Jane," she mumbled into the pillow. "You're so stupid. Stupid, _stupid!_" She pounded into the pillows to emphasize her words before flipping onto her back and trying to calm down. _Deep breaths, deep breaths. _If only she could have answered in that obvious way. Instead, the question made her realize the real answer was far from obvious and she lacked the tact to just… answer Maura's question with a simple yes and move on.

A simple yes. So the answer _w_a_s_ yes. Jane gulped as she admitted that much to herself. _Yes, Maura, without you in my life… well, I would probably beg and plead to get you back, like Amy._ She scoffed at herself, rethinking her words. _Beg and plead? I would hunt down the sick son of a bitch who made it happen and kill him myself… and then… and then…_

A sick feeling lanced through Jane's gut. Amy's expression. The young woman's words clicked. _I needed her—I need her now!_

Jane drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. _So. So, do I need Maura?_ She fought the urge to deny it offhand. But deliberate as she might, the only real answer she could produce was, _I don't know._ She didn't. She couldn't. Her relationship with Maura was a complicatedly simple animal. Simple if you didn't think about it. Horribly complicated if you did. The two had been through so much, too much. Maura was always happy to help Jane with her issues, and Jane found herself insulted on the few occasions Maura had looked elsewhere for comfort… Hell, half their individual traumas had been inflicted while they were together, weary or tattered, heartbroken or lonely, covered in scrapes and bruises, or with bullet holes around them or in them or in people who mattered. Seeing Maura in any kind of danger was… it killed Jane. It made her feel powerless. Incapable. Inadequate. Unworthy of bearing the majority, if not all, of Maura's unashamed, unwavering trust. Those times when Jane failed her…

Jane's hands ached and she diverted her mind quickly to stay on topic.

It was certainly an unlikely friendship. _Maura is such a goober,_ Jane thought with an affectionate grin, though she could never say that to Maura's face for fear of hearing the history, applications, and numerous reasons behind her apparent misuse of the word 'goober.' Or maybe, it might hurt her feelings and Jane hated doing that.

Of course, that didn't stop her from doing it anyway, usually by accident. _She can be so sensitive, sometimes!_ came the frustrated observation she often made… yet another reason Jane found it absurd that they were so close. The detective chose far from pleasant ways to verbalize her opinions in general, and she definitely abused the doctor with sarcasm and snarky remarks more than the poor thing deserved.

Yet Maura stood by her, dealt with her often callous and thoughtless word choice with a raised brow, a light scolding, or a sad attempt at a comeback that usually left Jane hiding a grin as she corrected Maura's slang. On the whole these exchanges were integral to the success of their relationship. The mushy stuff, where they shared feelings, or held each other as they cried, was important enough, but the way they handled each other everyday, the way Maura dealt with Jane and the way Jane dealt with Maura, represented a deeper understanding that Jane treasured more than anything. They encouraged each other's quirks, enabled each other's bad habits where others would not, provoked each other beyond all means… and Jane needed all of it. She needed all of Maura's reactions so that she knew how to react herself. This bizarre, reciprocal relationship they had was… unique, to say the least. It left Jane expecting certain things out of her life everyday. Not just things. She expected Maura, with her warm smile, her predictably boring and encyclopedic commentary, her genuine heart… She was a beautiful person. _Not that she isn't beautiful on the outside too…_ Jane banished that thought fast. _That…_ she swallowed thickly. _That is outside the scope of my brain right now_.

Jane felt an unfamiliar pang as her thoughts jumbled and quickly fell together again. _She's my best friend. She's _just_ my best friend. _Her eyes widened with the fear that was creating a now familiar discomfort. How many times would she have to say it to convince herself that it was the truth? No, it wasn't just the truth; it _had_ to be the truth, because if it wasn't, how could she face Maura everyday? Wasn't it weird that she needed her like this? _She can only ever be my friend. She can…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock. Jane wasn't sure whether she'd heard it or it was just a wistful figment of her imagination, but she sat up quickly and called out all the same. "…Maura?"

The door opened slowly to reveal Maura standing at the threshold in her silk pajamas. Jane stared anxiously where she suspected Maura's eyes were, though she couldn't really see in the dark.

"Jane?" Maura whispered with a small voice. "Can I—"

"Yes. But only because you're wearing the silks."

Maura giggled and closed the door behind her. Jane scooted over in the guest bed and pulled aside the covers, waiting for Maura to climb in before throwing them gently over her. They both settled into the mattress.

Maura clasped her hands together under the covers in an attempt to compose herself. "Jane, I came because I wanted to apologize." She pressed at her knuckles, nervous about Jane's response.

Jane blinked in wonder. Of course Maura would assume she was at fault. "Maur, you didn't do anything wrong."

"But I upset you."

Jane turned her head to look briefly at Maura. "You didn't. I… I overreacted to what should have been a simple question."

"Should have been?" Maura repeated quietly.

Jane could hear the tones of anticipatory hurt behind the words and she froze up again. This conversation was just… not one she wanted to have. Or should have. Ever. She scrambled through her mess of a brain for something to say but came up empty. Anything that came to mind was redolent of the discomfort Jane was desperately trying to avoid.

"It's okay, Jane," Maura finally said, her voice teasing but with indiscernible undertones. "It's not as if I want for you to… to dramatically threaten me with suicide were I to break relations."

Jane let out a laugh despite herself, but it faded quickly. "If I were being completely honest, I don't think I would ever do that."

"I see."

Jane glanced at Maura again. Was that disappointment? She reached out and grabbed Maura's nearest hand. "I just don't think it would be the right choice of symbolism given our, uh, unique human experiences." Maura's quiet laugh gave Jane the confidence to press forward. She licked her lips, absently fidgeting with her free hand. "The truth is, when you asked that, it, uh, it made me realize something that made me… well, nervous."

Maura turned her hand in Jane's and clutched at the detective's fingers idly. "Why?"

The doctor had attempted to speak the word with indifferent nonchalance. Was Jane imagining a twinge of hope? Or was that nervousness? Jane bit her lip. "It's not important. Don't worry about it. Let's just… get by it."

Maura didn't respond for a long minute. Jane stole a nervous peek and thought the doctor might have her deliberating face on, though Jane wasn't entirely sure in the dark. _Please, let this go, Maura. Please,_ she willed. _Let's just go back to normal, forget I ever said anything._

Finally, Maura seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "You know you can always tell me anything, Jane," she said softly, emphasizing the truth of the statement with a squeeze of Jane's hand. "But, if you don't want to talk about this, we don't have to. I just hate to see you upset because of something I said and not know why."

Guilt quickly deformed into cynicism. Before Jane could clamp down on her own tongue, the nearly bitter, accusatory words slipped out. "Of course you _know_ why." Jane turned away, tensing and removing her hand from Maura's. Some part of her demented brain was apparently bent on ruining her life tonight. But how could Maura not put two and two together, after all of Jane's freely given and inadvertent hints?

Propping herself up on her elbows, Maura shook her head in quick denial, unaware that Jane's bitter tone was self-directed. "No, Jane! I really don't. I… I have some ideas as to why you left, but… I don't know why what I said made you nervous."

Jane grit her teeth. "Just drop it. It's no big deal."

"Jane, if you're this upset by it, then it obviously is a big deal!" Jane groaned at herself, but Maura took it personally. "Okay." She let herself fall back into the bed. "As I had said, we don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry I keep pressing you."

"Maura—"

"No, it's okay," Maura insisted. Whatever courage the doctor had developed in the quiet of her own room had drowned in the tension between them now. Of course, Maura was hoping—though she'd never assume—that whatever had made Jane nervous mirrored what Maura had pieced together about herself before coming to talk. Even if that were the case, if Maura couldn't scrounge together the means of communicating her own sentiments, she could hardly expect that kind of bravery out of Jane. And that's _if_ that were the case. In the mean time, Maura had asked a question that somehow made Jane nervous and upset, and now she had made Jane even more upset by pushing her about it. Based on those facts, the only thing Maura should be doing right now is apologizing. She was beset by an intense guilt.

"I'm sorry," she murmured somewhat miserably. "I'm sorry for this whole thing."

If it were anyone else, Jane would have assumed the apology was far from genuine or simply an attempt at placating her temper. But this was Maura Isles. Her sincerity was something to be counted on, and Jane knew she was counting on it now. She surprised herself when she hunted through the warm sheets to hold Maura's hand again. With it firmly in her grasp, she managed a muted and belated, "Don't be." Jane closed her eyes and repeatedly traced the peaks and valleys of Maura's smooth knuckles with her index finger, forgetting herself, forgetting that maybe this wasn't normal or appropriate for friends. The action soothed her, gave her subtle pushes towards the edge of a precipice she was already teetering over. Somehow, for a few moments, the part of her that demanded she keep her established identity, her religion, her family, and her future in mind quieted itself as if curious to see what might happen.

"Maura, I…"

"Don't," Maura said, smiling fondly at Jane. "You don't ever have to tell me anything you don't want to. We're best friends, and I understand."

"That's just it. We're best friends. That's what makes this so hard." Jane pressed forward, not pausing to think about her words. It's not like she was admitting she was in love with the woman. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? "You're my best friend, and… and…" She squeezed her eyes shut. _Just say it. Out with it. For Christ's sake, it's not a proposal!_ "It just scares me, scares me a _lot_, that… that I do… need you." She took half a breath. "More than I've needed any friend." She only just managed to rasp out the last bit.

Maura's hand stilled in hers, and Jane clenched her eyes shut as if waiting for a blow. Her heart throbbed loudly in her ears. This was it. She'd just fucked up their friendship with weirdness, for real this time. Maura wouldn't know what to do with those kinds of feelings from Jane. She would reject her friendship. Or worse, she would laugh about it, laugh at Jane. The panic wedged itself in her throat. If she could just be normal, if Maura's question hadn't made her so goddamned _confused_ and _flustered!_ If only—

"Jane," Maura murmured, her soft voice somehow penetrating the throbbing in the detective's ears. "It's mutual, you must already know that."

Jane's heart skipped a few beats. Mutual? She felt Maura's hand shift and close around hers.

"I… I asked the question without really thinking about what it implied. I didn't even think that it might test our friendship the way it did. The last thing I intended to do was cause you any kind of distress."

Jane gave Maura's hand a reassuring squeeze, but said nothing. It was like a fist was jammed in her throat. _We need each other,_ she thought dizzily._ What does that mean?_ Suddenly, that part of her that demanded she think about things like family and society returned with a vengeance.

Maura felt Jane's tenseness through her hand, but didn't know what to say or do. Come to think of it, Maura was tense too. Jane's words had brought an indescribable sort of peace to Maura, but at the same time, it felt like her arteries were constricting painfully with each beat of her heart. _Nervous,_ Maura told herself, _I'm very… very nervous._ Because something about Jane's admission made Maura wonder exactly what the detective had meant by the word 'need.'

Jane laughed suddenly, startling the doctor. "This is…" Jane pulled her hand away to cover her face. "I-This is screwed up," she muttered from behind her hands. "It's fucking…"

"Jane?" Maura sat up, Jane's tone only squeezing her heart more painfully. "What's screwed up?"

"This, Maura, us. We are. If I… _need_ you, what does that mean? What does that even _mean?_"

Maura regarded her friend for a moment, hoping to speak the answer she wanted to hear. "It means… life would be very difficult without one another."

Jane barely heard her. "So what happens then when you run off and… I dunno, marry Ian and travel the world saving people's lives and I become a manless cat lady with eighteen cats and a bad attitude?"

"You already have the bad attitude," Maura pointed out with a teasing smile.

Jane clenched her teeth. "Maur."

"Jane, I'm not going to 'run off and marry Ian,' as you put it, nor will you become a manless cat lady."

"And so, what are the other options? Forget this weird 'confession' thing happened? Because the way this happened, it feels like it's supposed to mean something." Need. What did 'need' mean? Did it mean love? Desire? Was it friendship-safe? Certainly Maura must have not meant the word the way Jane suddenly realized she herself had. Because the more Jane thought about it, the more Jane's kind of need became scary, became complicated, became painful and _impossible_. Jane's mind reeled as the potential implications piled up. "Or, what else," she plowed on, "ignore it? Embrace it? Do we stay friends? Become _lovers?_ I-I love you, Maura, but I could never do that—I'm not… I'm _not_."

Maura felt a pang of hurt rip through her, but didn't know why. _Neither am I, so… why does that bother me?_ She shut out the hurt and fell back on the safe, right way to address the situation. "The fact that we have significant roles in each other's lives does not determine either of our sexual orientations." Her words were clipped and her tone flat, informative. Jane followed her words with wide eyes. "We're just aware of it now. Nothing has to change."

"You're right. Nothing has to change," Jane repeated.

"Yes."

"And nothing _will_ change." The words came out pleadingly.

"Yes," Maura murmured, barely able to keep the strange, dragging sadness out of her voice. "We are best friends, Jane," she almost whispered. "Nothing will ever change that."

The room became filled with a choking silence. Both wanted to break it, but neither knew which way to turn.

Jane knew Maura was upset, but she was too preoccupied trying to sort out the chaos in her mind to decipher why. All she could focus on was this upsetting and foreign, yet so very familiar _need_ she had for Maura. How easily Jane could recall the moments she needed most: Her voice over the phone in the middle of a hard case. Her form hunched over a body, her deft hands working magic with the dead, and then later working magic in the kitchen, or loosely cupping a glass of wine. Her grin when she teased Jane. Her confidence in her work that gave Jane confidence in her own. Her unbridled concern for Jane when she was in trouble. Her willingness to shoulder some of Jane's heavy burdens and the tact to do it discreetly without rushing to grab the reins of Jane's life. These things Jane needed. Not from anyone, but from _Maura_.

And that scared the _shit_ out of her.

Jane felt movement and hauled herself out of her thoughts. Maura was pulling the covers away and moving toward the edge of the bed.

"Maura?"

The coroner stood, replacing the covers behind her and keeping her back to Jane. "I'm… going to go to bed." She stepped lightly towards the door.

"Maura." Jane's voice broke, the desperation and confusion lodged there as effective as a physical grip holding Maura back.

The doctor's hand froze above the doorknob, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Her throat constricted painfully.

"Maura!" Jane shifted towards her across the bed. "Where… Please… why are you…?"

Maura released a shuttering sigh. She spoke her words as she figured them out for herself, piecing together the tearing grief she felt. "I… I do need you, Jane, but… I think I need more." She stepped out into the hallway and gently drew the door shut behind her. _Nothing has to change,_ she thought as she made her way back to her room. Her own bitterness surprised her. _But I don't think I can change how much I want it to._

Jane was gone when Maura woke up in the morning. The guestroom bed was made to perfection as if Jane had never been there. Maura felt hollow as she dressed for work and brewed coffee. Going to work wouldn't be easy. She steeled herself to do as she promised. Everything would be normal, nothing would change. For Jane.

…

_Continued in chapter 3, From Win and Lose_


	3. From Win and Lose

Thank you all for the support! I'm glad some of you think I'm capturing this sort of situation well. I'm not terribly skilled at writing laugh-your-pants-off humor into my stories, so other than a few quips here and there for a smile, this story will tend to be, as meribu noted, intense (among other things). Especially this chapter… Maybe? I dunno, you decide. Adjectives are relative terms, as it were.

I had this story written out before I posted the first chapter… but my ideas are changing and I'm essentially rewriting the whole thing as I go, so I apologize for taking a little while to update.

I also apologize in advance that this chapter is Jane-centered. I'll try to cover more of Maura's side in the coming chapters, but because she, for the most part, understands a bit more about how she feels, I'm sticking with Jane to follow her own shifting trains of thought.

As always, feedback is welcome! Enjoy!

…

Chapter 3: From Win and Lose

…

Jane quickly blinked the perspiration out of her eyes, absently widening them to absorb as many details as possible in the darkened environment. Muscles taught, ears straining, and gun heavy in her hands, she inched forward, using the nose of her weapon to push the rotting wooden door open. It creaked dramatically as it swung inward, releasing a breath of dank, musty air.

Briefly, she considered returning, waiting a little longer. But behind her was this sickening discomfort. That's what had driven her here. No, the only way out was in.

She crept forward through the doorway, bent at the knees and slightly hunched, ready for anything. Anything at all.

A barren concrete corridor gradually faded into existence in the interior, rolling out before her like an unfurling carpet runner that stretched as far as she dared to look. Lining both sides were countless rooms, the contents of each sheltered by the same sort of rotting wooden door she had just passed through. Somewhere, behind one of those doors… that's where she would find it.

Rapid fire bounced through the concrete world, smacking into her ears painfully. She threw herself against the cool, rough wall in a second, pressing her back into it hard and holding her gun at the ready. The breath raced in and out of her as she strained to hear more, but the corridor was silent. _Automatic. Sub-machine?_ She was only grasping at straws. She dealt a lot more with pistols and shotguns in her time than anything heavy. Korsak would have been able to pick out the sound in an instant.

_Speaking of Korsak… where the hell is my backup?_

Squaring her shoulders, she proceeded, edging along the walls until she reached the first door. She wanted to wait, to try to figure out what exactly it was she was heading into by herself, but there was no time to pause or think. That feeling, or whatever it was, was somewhere behind her. She could almost physically feel the time slipping through her fingers, coating the floor in a thin mist like steaming asphalt on a cool summer night. Reservations tossed aside, backup be damned, she leaned back and kicked the door open.

"_Police!_"

The room was well-furnished and had the smell of recently smoked cigarette. One snake hung lazily over the side of an armchair. At Jane's arrival, it merely met her eyes with its own beady, unreadable orbs, its forked tongue drooping out like an invitation.

Jane retreated with a shudder, shutting the door behind her. _I _hate_ snakes._ The mist on the hallway floor swirled around her footsteps as she approached the next door on the opposite side. Faintly, she heard whisperings from down the hall, but she focused on the door in front of her and kicked it open just like the first.

Finding herself immediately disoriented, Jane nearly dropped her weapon. This door opened up to the night sky, stars twinkling cheerily. Curious, Jane cautiously poked her head through the doorframe and saw the moon, incandescently beautiful, decorating the corner of the room like a lamp. Swearing under her breath at the distraction, she leaned back into the corridor and yanked the door shut. Glancing down, she saw that the mist had thickened somewhat. She felt the urgency pull at her and that weird feeling push at her, and she trotted on to the next wooden door hastily, her gun leading the way.

This one contained a bathroom. A woman sat in the shower tub behind a curtain. One arm hung exposed over the side of the tub, a ribbon of red spiraling down her arm and pooling on the tiled floor. Jane gasped, recognizing the arm, and shut the door quickly. The next room was an empty roadway in the midst of an endless desert. The room after that was a diner, filled with three or four patrons and a waitress. Jane had tried to question all of them, but they didn't acknowledge her presence, so she cussed them all out and moved on. Bass was the sole occupant of the next room, craning his head to stare at her with an unspoken challenge. The next five rooms were old crime scenes from throughout Jane's career, the victim's bodies still fresh on the floor, or in the car, or partly visible in a dumpster. Her mother served her tea in one room across from a faceless man, and Casey sat fitfully behind a desk in another, completely unaware of Jane.

One room had a young woman swinging from a rope with sad eyes. Jane's heart leapt in recognition. "Amy!" Jane reached for her without a moment's hesitation. "Let me get you down. You're alive! You're going to be okay, you're going to—" But as Jane went to touch the noose, the rope burned her hand.

Amy's eyes found Jane's and paralyzed her with the acute misery they conveyed. "Leave me be," she croaked.

"N-no!" Jane tried to grab the noose again, but it seared her hand no matter where she touched it.

"Just let me go. Let me be with Trisha."

Jane shook her head adamantly. "There are still things worth living for!" Again and again, she tried to find a grip on the burning rope but the heat was too severe. The noose was only getting hotter and soon wisps of smoke coiled into the air. Still, Jane persisted, talking at Amy as she struggled. "It's not like you've wasted time! You knew from the start, remember? You knew and you spent all your time together! What else could you have possibly done?"

"Believed her. Believed in her. If I had, she might…"

Amy trailed off as Jane took aim with her gun. Hands steady, she let off two bullets into the rope, hoping to sever it, but the bullets melted on impact like some surreal Dali painting. A third and fourth round made no difference. "Shit!"

Amy's expression hardened with Jane's failure. "Get out," she ordered, relaxing into the noose and shutting her eyes.

Jane stared in shock. "But—"

The argument was over. The noose burst into flame, snatching up Amy and reaching out greedily for Jane. The heat burned Jane's hands when she tried one last time to save Amy and she had no choice but to tearfully retreat. She attempted to shut the rickety door as she ducked back into the corridor, but the flame engulfed the rotting wood and followed her like a raging animal, lapping up the mist that swelled to Jane's knees and careening after her.

Jane sprinted down the hallway for her life, heart palpating as she felt the heat right behind her, gaining on her every second, singeing the hairs on the back of her neck. She dared to steal a glance over her shoulder and cried out as the flame ate up everything, destroying all the doors she had yet to examine. _Fuck! What if it was back there?_ Fighting for breath and beating back the panic, Jane focused on what was in front of her, setting her sights on another door. _If I can escape into this one…_

She practically fell through this door, lurching in surprise when she saw what was in it. She was looking up a heavily wooded ravine, frozen in horror as an unmarked police cruiser careened over the top, hurtling straight through bramble and tree branches towards the unprepared detective at the bottom.

Jane fell on her ass in an attempt to get her feet moving, scrambling back into the hallway on hands and knees before clambering to her feet in a full-on, adrenaline-pumping dash as the cruiser crashed through doorway and concrete, smashing into the opposite side of the hall and meeting the wall of fire in its pursuit of Jane.

This time Jane didn't dare look behind her as the flames ate up the car, which she was fairly certain had people in it. The noise from the fire died down momentarily before an explosion knocked her off her feet. The wind rushed out of her as she met the concrete floor and slid into the wall by another wooden door. She released her weapon on impact and heard it skitter across the concrete, lost somewhere in the fog.

On the floor, Jane was fully immersed in the mist and it took her a few moments to orient herself and steady her ragged breathing.

_The fuck… is going on?_

Some part of Jane knew this was a dream—a nightmare, really—but the feelings and the reality around her implied something far too familiar, something too close to real life for her to shake it.

Finally finding the strength to rise, she saw that the explosion seemed to have quenched the flame's thirst. The roaring fire simply stopped at some invisible barrier, preventing any return in the direction from which she came. Wearily, Jane turned back to the door she was closest to and regarded it.

_Go ahead, open it._

The voice sounded like Jane's own, but there was something strange about it. She reached forward and turned the handle, a horrible feeling anchoring itself in the pit of her stomach. As soon as she peeked inside, she regretted it.

"Hey, Janie. You found me!"

"Hoyt." His name was poison on her lips. He was in a nearly empty room, the only object being the wooden chair on which he sat. "You're dead," Jane said dumbly.

"Out there, yes," the serial killer admitted casually. "But in here, I'm very much alive. The flames can't touch me. Not right now."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Come closer, Janie." The smirk on his face was horrendous. "Let me see you."

"No." Jane stood her ground in the doorway, refusing to take one more step and be sucked into the black void that Hoyt left in her life.

Hoyt shrugged one shoulder. "Suit yourself." He hummed an odd tune to himself, legs crossed, fingers woven together in his lap. Everything about him suggested that he was perfectly content in that chair, that he had been there for a very long time. Was this a joke? A distraction?

"You aren't what I'm looking for," Jane said slowly, half asking, half answering.

"How do you know?" he asked eagerly. "I might be exactly what you're looking for. I might be what you've been looking for all along. You're telling me you didn't truly enjoy plunging that scalpel into my chest?"

Jane tried to muster all her hatred in one defiant stare. "I wish the flame had made it this far and swallowed you up too, even if it had gotten me in the process."

"Oh no, Janie, that's not how it works." He cocked his head with a crooked smile. "You won't let the flame get me. I'm too special. That's why it stopped." He sneered. "You see, if you didn't really want me, I wouldn't be here."

"That's a _lie!_" Jane growled.

He snickered. "I'm dead, aren't I? You killed me, and yet, here I am, a representation of everything that eats you up." His expression saddened for a moment. "Too bad your doctor friend isn't here. This would have been more fun."

Jane felt every muscle stiffen, her anger flaring at the mention of Maura. Was Maura at the end of this hellhole? The scars in her palms stung like a fresh wound. "Where is she?" she demanded. "What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Hoyt repeated. "This isn't _my_ house, Janie. I can't just go do whatever I want."

"Hoyt!" Jane knew that this was a dream, that she had no objective. She just wanted to _understand_.

The killer's expression changed suddenly as if he overheard Jane's thoughts. "The fire isn't a bad thing," Hoyt said seriously. "It doesn't pick and choose. You do. You choose its color."

Jane's anger was derailed by his change in attitude. "I choose its…?"

"Mm, yes." He nodded emphatically. "You see, every fire has its fuel," he continued. He grinned wickedly at a sudden thought. "I bet if you fed _me_ to it, Janie…" He trailed off and his smile faded. "Only if it doesn't change. Only if you don't change it."

Jane fumbled for comprehension. "How can I change it?"

"Come now, Janie. You're the detective."

"You aren't making sense."

"I'm bored," Hoyt said, turning his chair around so that his back was to the doorway. "Come back when you're terrified of me again. Come back with a bigger fire." His gleaming eyes met hers menacingly. "I may win yet."

Jane shut the door at that, glancing behind her at the burning wall of flame that had ebbed somewhat during her conversation with Hoyt. The mist now billowed at her shoulders. There was no time left. She turned forward down the corridor again to find that only one door remained about a hundred feet down where the hallway finally ended. Biting back fear as she approached it, she tried the handle.

The door swung open, revealing… nothing. A blackness that seemed impenetrable, empty, and endless. As Jane contemplated this, she heard a roaring and spun around. The fire had grown and was thundering towards her impossibly fast. Fear paralyzed her. How could she face that torrent of heat and pain and come out unscathed? How could she face the blackness behind her? _What do I do?_ The fear crippled her. Her body recoiled from the wall of fire. She stepped blindly backwards into the darkness and fell.

…

Jane lurched upward with a shriek, the heat still right behind her, chasing her, burning her, and then her eyes focused and she was in her room, on her bed, in the real world. Her ears were ringing painfully and her heart was ricocheting off the walls of her chest. She glanced down at herself to find the source of the burning sensation and saw that her shirt clung to her every curve, saturated in sweat. She forced her breathing to maintain some kind of normal rhythm as she patted herself down, searching for wounds. Seemingly unscathed, her hand flew out to pat wildly at the empty space next to her, searching for someone who wasn't there.

Finally, the ringing in her ears subsided and she figured out that she was alone. Already most of the nightmare was lost on her when she recognized another racket, Jo Friday barking anxiously at Jane while the alarm clock blared unremittingly into the dim room. She smothered her face with her hands, hoping to shut out the world. Of course, that didn't work. Her face was wet… tears or sweat? She couldn't tell. Jo hopped up onto the bed, yipping at Jane agitatedly.

Jane reached out and found her dog's head. "Shush, quiet Jo, I'm fine." Her voice was hoarse. Had she been screaming all night? Given the nature of her dream, that wouldn't have surprised her. Jo whined, nosing her way through Jane's legs and onto her owner's lap. Jane ignored her, finding the energy to reach out and smack her alarm's off-switch before it worsened the headache already ripping from one temple to the other.

She sat there for a bit trying to find some shred of herself that was intact, one hand stroking Jo's head methodically, the other pressed tightly over her eyes. As she contemplated the vague notion of fear and heat that was left in her, bits and pieces of another nightmare came back to her. _Maura…_ Jane cringed as the memories ordered themselves in her jumbled head. Instantly, she felt guilty for leaving in the middle of the night. She had snuck out like a delinquent teen, unable to silence her confused mind and thinking she might find solitude in her own apartment. Sleep had found her there after hours of tossing and turning, but that nightmare, though only bits and pieces floated back to her now, had been anything but restful.

She glanced at her alarm clock. _She's probably awake by now… I'm sure she's noticed I'm not there. _She let her head fall back against the headboard. _I am such a serious asshole._ Loneliness tore through Jane then, not for her own sake, but Maura's. How did her home feel this morning? Was it as empty and dismal as Jane imagined? Was she terrified of going to work too? Jane groaned. _How the hell am I going to make it through this day?_

Jo Friday startled the detective when she barked with what sounded vaguely like offense and scrambled over her legs to the edge of the bed. "What, Jo, do I smell?" Jane took a whiff of her shirt. "Whew-wee! Why yes I do." Jo Friday hopped off the bed with a toss of her head and disappeared into the hallway. "Oh come on, Jo!" Jane called after her. "Like you haven't smelled this bad before!"

She looked over herself again grimly. She would eventually get to the whole 'making it through this day' thing, but first thing was first. The detective needed a shower, bad. She dared to hazard another sniff and wrinkled her nose. Real bad.

…

Jane had succeeded in avoiding Maura for a decent chunk of the morning by skipping out on café coffee. But by 10:30, she had fallen asleep at her desk twice and decided that coffee was really the only way she could go on. Dodging Frost and Korsak's pesky questioning, she announced she was going on a coffee run and headed down to the café. She knew it would be almost empty since some mayor or governor or senator of someplace or another was downtown campaigning and nearly the entire force was deployed for crowd control and security. There were only a handful of people in the building, which meant less than a handful of people in the café, which in _turn_ meant Jane could probably slip in, grab her coffee, and slip out without running into Maura.

Of course, as soon as the elevator doors opened, there she was, halfway across the lobby on her way downstairs. Jane half expected the doctor to ignore her, pretend like she hadn't seen her. But to her surprise, Maura walked right up to her as she stepped off the elevator.

The doctor greeted her cheerfully, making some comment about the amorphous characteristics of Jane's bed-head, and wished her luck on the case, adding that she would call if she found anything new. That part of the interaction had been, well, normal.

Normal, if not for dark bags under the doctor's eyes, or the barely visible strain as she attempted to form genuine smiles. Maura Isles was not okay, and Jane could not stand it. As Maura brushed past her on the way to the elevator, Jane's hand involuntary caught the silky sleeve of her Christian Dior blouse and gave it a minute tug. Maura's steps faltered and she hesitantly stopped, the muscles in her back bunching almost imperceptibly as she turned to meet Jane's gaze.

"Maura, I…" Jane's words died in her throat. Every detail on Maura's face illustrated the battle the doctor was going through. An unnervingly wan complexion. Eyes twitching in an effort to remain unblinking even as they glazed with the arrival of tears. Her nostrils flaring as she forced normal breaths. Her lower lip quivering as she attempted to keep herself together. Jane focused a lot of attention on this last point, though why, she couldn't say. Maybe it was because the way her lip was quivering made Maura look vulnerable. No, everything about her practically spelled 'vulnerable' in bold, underlined capitals. Maybe it was because… Jane didn't really know. The longer she studied Maura's slightly parted mouth, the greater the same feeling of discomfort from the previous night seemed to well up inside her. She dragged her eyes back up to Maura's. The doctor was putting on her brave face. But Maura knew better than anyone how easily Jane could see through it.

Jane hated what she saw.

Her hand released Maura's sleeve, opting instead to glide gently down the back of her arm and come to rest just above Maura's bare elbow. The distance was short, and yet Maura shivered at Jane's traveling touch, unable to wrench her eyes away from Jane's. The detective tightened her grip on Maura's arm, hoping to communicate how she felt, how she couldn't stand this thing that had come between them, how she was dying to come up with some way to fix this, fix them, or at the very least fix her. Swallowing, she opened her mouth to try again. "Maur—"

"Don't." Maura whispered the word laboriously, finally tearing away her gaze to stare at the floor. Her eyelids drooped despondently. "If you're going to apologize for—"

"But I _am_ sorry," Jane cut in fervidly, wishing desperately that Maura would look at her again. "I'm sorry for how I treated you. I am so sorry for leaving last night."

"…Jane." The low tone was a threat.

Jane glanced around and realized that reducing Maura to tears here in the lobby would just add another horrible thing to her steadily growing rap sheet. _I am such a shit friend,_ she thought nervously. She caught the eyes of the lone officer guarding the lobby who had been staring curiously at Maura and threw him a look so foul that he skittered down a hallway. "That's all I wanted to say," she said hurriedly, directing her attention back to Maura's bowed head. "That and I'm… I'm confused, and frustrated, but I'm here." She gave Maura's arm one last squeeze before letting her go, hoping Maura knew what she meant by the word 'here' when Jane herself did not.

Maura straightened herself out somewhat, avoiding Jane's gaze as she squared her shoulders. "Thanks," she said loudly, and rather unconvincingly. Jane remained still, waiting with bated breath for Maura to storm off towards the elevators. Then Maura surprised her, her eyes flitting to Jane's briefly as she repeated, "Thanks." The word was much softer the second time around, but about a hundred times more convincing. She turned to leave. "I am going to continue to examine Trisha's body today. If I find something more, you'll be the first to know."

"Okay," Jane said, watching Maura get onto the elevator. The doctor kept her back to Jane and it seemed like forever before the elevator doors began to close. To Jane's horror, just before the door slipped shut, she saw Maura slump against the far wall with hunched, defeated shoulders.

Jane cursed under her breath and ran a hand through the disheveled hair Maura had so kindly brought to her attention. Jane didn't know how. But somehow, she was going to fix this. Even if the confusion in her chest burst into flame.

…

_Continued in chapter 4, Changing Colors_


	4. Changing Colors

You know, when I was writing the first part of this chapter, it got me thinking… one day I'm going to be on a medical examiner's table, at least briefly (hopefully not because I was murdered or involved in some kind of crime). If Maura were a real person, I think she'd be the medical examiner of choice, don't you? I mean she's a little zealous with a scalpel but where else are you going to find that kind of respect after you're dead?

Relax, I'm joking.

Half joking.

I'm not really joking. This is a legitimate concern.

Thank you everyone for the reviews, author/story alerts, and favorites! Your support is super appreciated. Also, sorry for procrastinating on this fic… I was having serious writer's block and decided to post the one-shot I'd had lying around for a while. In theory, the posting for this fic should be more rapid after this chapter.

The first part of this chapter almost turned into a character study. It's longwinded but for some reason it all seemed necessary. You've been warned. Don't worry, though, the story gets moving this time around.

Here we go!

…

Chapter 4: Changing Colors

…

Maura prided herself on understanding, on her ability to comprehend things in the very strange world she and billions of other humans occupied. As a child, not having much luck associating with others, she focused all her attention on understanding them, on understanding everything. By the time she was twelve, she had a thorough understanding of graduate-level mathematics and advanced physics, biology, and chemistry. She could also relate human history starting with the transition from ape to _Ardipithicus ramidus_ and ending with the highlights from the previous evening's 11 o' clock news. With this knowledge committed to memory, she moved on to study anatomy, physiology, psychology, psyhcopathy, sociology, theology, and anthropology, hoping some combination of these subjects would paint a clear picture of the workings of her fellow humans.

It helped—a little. She could provide a probable reason for the decisions people made. She could explain feelings with chemicals, describe mindsets within cultural and social parameters, and predict actions based on statistical data. Yet, with all this knowledge, she still found it difficult to fit in and form her niche in the society she knew like the back of her hand. Knowing how humans lived and thrived was a far cry from _understanding_ them. She still found herself ostracized and lonely in her teens. She made few friends and could not consider herself close to any one of them. And as she sat alone in her room, mind drifting away from homework or a book, she would try to understand herself. She could recite word for word in textbook style how loneliness stemmed primarily from elevated glucocorticoid levels, but that didn't make the feeling any more tolerable.

Eventually she realized that all the studying she could do in a lifetime wouldn't change who she was, nor would it change how people saw her. But as she grew older and searched for a career she would love, she stumbled into forensics. One externship at the morgue had her sold. She found for the first time that there _were_ humans she could understand. They were the ones delivered to her examination tables, cold and lifeless. Rather than be subject to change and continuing thought processes, these humans had lived their conscious history and Maura could study them as such. They couldn't learn and make decisions anymore; their minds weren't malleable like living humans. It was in speaking for the dead that Maura found her niche in society and her connection to humanity. And it was the dead's lack of malleability that allowed Maura to understand them so thoroughly.

This discovery resulted in the nearly blissful sense of fulfillment that Maura rode into her adult life. After so many years of searching for it, she finally found a way of understanding that really made sense to her. The evidence was always there. Cases were presented and solved, problems asked and answered. Maura loved it. She had found her calling. She had found her place, and things finally made sense.

Twice in her life was this conception challenged.

The first time was when she met Detective Rizzoli, who in a remarkably short period of time became Jane, a friend. A _best_ friend. The experience was entirely new to the doctor. After spending most of her life reconciling herself to the fact that she would probably always be isolated, that she would probably never have another (living) human to call friend, she suddenly found herself invited to Jane's apartment for a warm night of beer, wine, and a bad movie—just one week after they had met.

_You're inviting me over for drinks and a movie? …Isn't that what friends do?_ Maura remembered dumbly asking.

_Uh, yeah?_ Jane had said, eyebrow raised. _So do you want to come over for beers or not?_

_Well, uh… yes!_ the doctor had vigorously nodded. _But I don't drink beer. I'll be bringing a bottle of '98 Chateau Cheval Blanc that I've been saving._

Jane had given an exaggerated eye roll. _Chateau Chevy—Oh, heerrrree we go. Maura, you're coming to my home. You're—going—to try a beer._

And that was it. Maura had never had a best friend before but she _knew_ that she had found one in Jane. She had someone to trust, to rely on and tell all her secrets. After the initial shock of discovering a friend in another human subsided, Maura shakily reglued her perception of the world around Jane. There was nothing about the doctor that shook the detective. Maura reveled in the kinship that had been missing from her life. Jane Rizzoli was a living breathing human that Maura could understand—for the most part—and Jane seemed to understand her right back. Thus Maura amended her view of life. Perhaps there were some living humans that could be understood.

The second time Maura's conception of the world shattered was last night when it appeared as though the friendship she had long cherished would come to an end. Because somewhere along the line, Maura had stopped studying her friendship with Jane so that she could simply enjoy it. And somewhere between then and now, things had changed. Maura had no data, no prior experience to fall back on.

And Jane's words resurfaced like a cold breath. _Yeah, that's what you do, you hide behind science._

Jane wasn't a corpse in her morgue. She wasn't dead when she had denied her feelings the night before. She wasn't dead when she had disappeared in the middle of the night, punctuating that denial. She was among the living, about as readable as an unwritten book.

But…

But that meant she was still subject to change, it meant nothing was set in stone.

It was for this reason that Maura entered the lobby elevator in tears, hurt by the situation, hurt by the friendship she feared might be lost forever, and exited the elevator on the basement floor with a confused, horrifying yet enthralling sense of hope. Somewhere between the first floor and the basement, Maura had replayed the interaction without her nerves muting Jane's words and actions and seen something completely different. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Maura raced out and down the hall to the solitude of her office, fueled by the flutter of hope that had risen inside her. As luck would have it, the two technicians in the morgue were having a rather passionate discussion over a test tube in the lab and she managed to slip by them with tears in her eyes, red in her cheeks, unnoticed.

Office doors closed and locked, blinds shut, Maura stood dazedly with one hand clutching her desk for support, too fretful to think straight. _Okay… Okay. Remember those books on anxiety. Deep breathing exercises. Back straight. Hand on stomach. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Five seconds in. Five seconds out._ Mentally reciting the proper form for stress-relieving breaths was one thing, but her body refused to cooperate with the small, maybe somewhat necessary physical aspects of the exercise. Her inhales wavered and her exhales shuddered.

_Hope._

Maura was conflicted. The logical side of her urged that she have no expectations, that she let the scientist in her hang back and observe, gather more evidence. But the memory of Jane's hand trailing down her arm told her otherwise. As she continued to fail at proper deep breathing, she absently fingered the sleeve of her blouse where Jane had grabbed it, tracing and retracing the path Jane's hand had taken. It wasn't the touch of someone who was about to run away. It wasn't a touch that only meant something to Maura. It was a touch that was positively itching with restraint—absently or consciously, Maura didn't know. But that meant… that meant what?

Then there was the matter of her _words_…

_I'm confused, and frustrated, but I'm here._

_Jane is here,_ Maura thought. She could only guess at the implications, but those squeezes, the feelings her burning, enticingly rough hand communicated, seemed to make one thing absolutely clear. Jane didn't plan on going anywhere. And that gave Maura hope. Hope that there might be a future for this bumbling, dysfunctional friendship yet.

Yes, Dr. Maura Isles prided herself on understanding, on knowing things _for certain_. But for the first time in her life, she was satisfied with uncertainty. Uncertainty meant possibility, and Maura was desperate for all the possibility she could get.

…

That day, just past noon, Frost finally got into Trisha's laptop and broke through the encryption on her web history. Jane spent the best part of the afternoon poring through the dozens of sites Trisha had browsed through. The building was nearly empty due to a political function downtown, leaving Jane with even fewer distractions than usual. Normally, she would relish the solitude and use it to power through whatever case work happened to be at hand, but the endless stream of browser history failed to provide a much-needed diversion from her painfully confusing inner struggle. Even with the list of webpages in front of her, she couldn't keep her mind on anything but the look on Maura's face and how torn it made her feel. She released the sequel of many a long, frustrated sigh and let her head fall forward and _thump_ against her desk.

Frost, having been privy to her endless stream of agitated noises, under-the-breath swears, and periodic sighs, finally gave in and decided to ask just which stick his partner had up her ass. He leaned around his computer screen. "Jane." He waited for a response and was rewarded with a muffled grunt. "You seem to maybe be in what one might consider a _wee_ bit of a bad mood." He added the emphasis just in case his sarcasm didn't stick. "Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?"

Jane groaned into her desk. "Mind your own damn business. What, am I bothering you?" Frost laughed and she sat up partway to make a face at him. "Wha—'Wrong side of the bed?' Really?"

Frost tilted his head in mock appraisal. "It appears you're in a foul place."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Gee, what gave it away? My charming demeanor?"

"Nah, the hair." He wagged his eyebrows at her. "Let me tell you, it needs some work. Right now it looks like you found a scraggily old black cat on the street, ran it through a carwash, and gave it a new profession."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"I've got this barber—"

"Oh shut up!"

Jane flicked a pencil in his general direction and he ducked to dodge it, grinning maliciously. "Now it's on, Rizzoli!"

Korsak cleared his throat from his own desk. "Knock it off you two."

Fully prepared to ignore him, Frost fisted a collection of pens and pencils to wage a full on war when his computer produced a shrill _beep_. "Huh." He returned his weaponry to the pencil holder they came from and typed away on the keyboard. "Well that's strange."

"What is it?" Jane stood and rounded the desks to stand next to Frost, joined shortly by Korsak.

Frost was shaking his head as he opened and closed some windows, reading some displayed information. "I don't really know. The computer's been acting a little strange all day, but now the browser's freezing up." He clicked around some more before shrugging. "I think I'm going to try restarting it. That should fix the issue."

Jane's phone vibrated, startling her. She checked the screen. "It's Maura. She said she found something."

Korsak nodded. "Good. You better go check it out."

Jane eyed her old partner, wondering what kind of bribery or blackmailing would be necessary to convince him to go down to the morgue in her stead, but he was already helping Frost fiddle with the computer. She pursed her lips. This was Maura, the Chief Medical Examiner, who she would have to deal with everyday. Sending Korsak down would only be delaying inevitable future interactions. She took in a deep breath that hardly steeled her pudding nerves, turned on heel, and headed to the elevator.

If Maura could pretend to be normal, like in the lobby before Jane had pried out her feelings with a crowbar, well, Jane could too. After all, Jane was quite the master of pretending, a connoisseur of fine deflection, a renowned circumvention aficionado. Maybe they would both pretend so hard that things would just… pop back into place. This new idea, however unrealistic, comforted Jane enough that she was able to step off the elevator on the bottom floor with only moderate fear of a panic attack.

Luckily, Maura was all business when Jane strode into the morgue. She glanced up from the pile of clothing she was hovering over. "Jane. Look at this."

The detective gravitated to Maura's side without thinking about it. "What do we got?"

Maura was holding one of the socks Trisha had been wearing when she was found, examining it with a pair magnifying glasses. "This sock. Here." She held up to Jane so she could get a look at the full length of it. "What do you see?"

Jane stared at it, unsure of what Maura saw that she could not. "I see… a gray sock."

"Trisha was a women's size seven-and-a-half shoe."

Jane furrowed her brow, following the length of the sock from heel to toe. "It's big. Trisha could fit like two and half of her feet in here."

Maura nodded eagerly. "It's made for a size eleven to twelve foot, to be exact. Eleven to twelve _men's_," she clarified. "And look at this." She folded the brim of the sock over to reveal the inner weave.

Jane stepped closer to get a look, her forearm brushing against Maura's where the doctor had rolled up her lab coat's sleeves. That little contact sent an unexpected, jagged thrill through Jane. She sucked in a sharp breath. Why hadn't she noticed how smooth and flawless Maura's skin was before? Then she cringed at the thought, refusing to acknowledge it.

"Jane?" Maura stepped forward to get a better look at the detective's face, breaking the contact. "Are you alright? You look like you're in pain."

Reminding herself that she had lungs that required air, Jane met Maura's gaze only long enough to register the incredible restraint the doctor was exhibiting. It was Maura's continued attempt to normal. Jane tried to return her focus to the sock, not missing Maura's whitening knuckles as she gripped the sock harder. _Focus, Jane! Focus. _She followed the weave of the sock, swallowing her feelings. And she saw it.

"Is that…" She moved closer, straining her eyes. "…hair?"

"Yes," Maura said. "And it isn't Trisha's."

Jane released a breath. "This is bizarre."

"The other sock has hair woven into it as well." Maura set the sock down on the examination table and looked at Jane earnestly. "I'm going to do something I never do, Jane. I'm going to guess. But only because of these rare circumstances." Jane raised a brow skeptically as Maura began counting on her fingers. "First, I once read about a case much like this, and the statistically possibility of them being related is very high. Second, I feel that it is imperative we explore this option considering how easily it can be looked into, given the accurate records kept at most mental health institutions. Third, if we take into consideration the nature of the crime—"

Jane reached out without thinking, grabbing Maura's shoulders. Another smaller thrill lanced through her, but she gritted her teeth against it. "Maura. Out with it. What's your guess?"

Maura met Jane's intense stare, eyes wide. "The perpetrator was most likely… a male, under 40, probably under 35, with access to the web and freedom of mobility, diagnosed for at least a year now with a—" she shrugged here, indicating this _really_ was just a guess. "—a combination of schizophrenia, maybe, and trichotillomania, and possibly other mental disorders."

Jane's face bunched up. "Tricho… trichtill…?"

"Trichotillomania," Maura repeated, reminding herself to keep it simpler than she usually would. "It's a disorder where the patient feels compelled to remove, as in forcibly wear down or pull out, hair from various or even all parts of his or her body. Our killer is probably bald, or completely hairless. This sock," Maura picked it up again, folding it over to reveal the fibers inside, "was probably crafted by the killer as a means of coping with his disorders… a way to save that which he mentally could not handle."

Jane shook her head. "Then why was it on Trisha's foot?"

"Well, it's just conjecture…"

"Maura, your 'conjecture' is more often than not pure, beautiful fact."

Maura smiled warmly, always finding herself pleasantly surprised at Jane's confidence in her.

Jane had yet to drop her hands from Maura's shoulders, but the painful thrill had evolved into a less painful drilling of her heart. That was better. This was… it felt… _Focus, damn it!_ "So?" Jane pressed, trying to keep the nervous waver out of her rasp.

"The killer most likely didn't want to kill Trisha—at least part of him didn't. The sock was there as a sort of good luck charm, to save her. He might have genuinely wanted to help Trisha get back together with Amy, but a schizophrenic episode may have changed the intended outcome."

Jane finally dropped her arms to her side. "Damn, Maura, you're good."

"Well, I may be completely wrong, but…" She grinned. "Thank you."

Jane pulled her phone from its clip on her belt, pacing towards the door. "I'm going to call Frost, get him started on—" Jane's phone cut her off with a shrill ring. "Oh, that's him." She answered the phone. "Rizzoli."

"Jane." His voice was edgy. "My computer was hacked. We think it was the killer."

Jane tensed up immediately. "What? Well—what was he looking for?"

"Us, information on us. He broke into all of our personnel files. He knows who we are, he knows where we are, and he knows we're looking for him. He also broke into part of the case file."

"Jane?" Maura's voice was oddly quiet behind her.

Jane held up a finger over her shoulder to stall any of Maura's questions. "Okay, Frost, thanks. We'll keep our guard up. Listen, Maura found us some great new leads. I think we might actually be able to find this guy. I'll be upstairs in five to explain."

"Alright, see ya."

Jane ended the call and returned her phone to its holder as she turned around to address Maura… and froze.

A tank of a man in a baggy shirt and tattered jeans towered right behind the doctor. His profusely muscled arm was wrapped around her neck, and an old .45 was pressed right into her temple. A set of bloodshot eyes was the only feature that stood out on his face. He had no eyelashes, eyebrows, or hair on his head, and the result was disorienting.

Maura's bottom lip was quivering, her hands hanging stiffly by her side as if torn between falling limp in submission and clawing desperately at the massive arm that was coming dangerously close to cutting off her air supply. Maura's eyes bore fearfully into Jane's s and the detective found it very hard to breathe, as though she were the one nearly being strangled. The cop in her quickly took over even as trepidation for Maura fought to incapacitate her. She stared at Maura earnestly and sent a message with smoldering eyes. _Don't. Try. Anything._ Slowly, Maura's arms shakily relaxed at her sides, her expression burgeoning with such immense trust that Jane couldn't help but feel honored.

It was with great effort that the detective left Maura's fearful gaze and found the haunted, bloodshot eyes that had never left her face. Jane swallowed, doing her best to be the picture of neutrality as she slowly raised her hands in surrender. Or at least she wanted the man to think that way, for now. "What do you want?" she asked him cautiously.

He looked up toward the ceiling at her voice, as if he heard it coming from some other direction. "Please be quiet. Don't call out." He drilled the gun's muzzle into Maura's temple a little by way of threat, causing the doctor to wince and Jane's heart to lurch. "Come with me," he ordered quietly, still focused on the ceiling.

"Where to?" Jane pressed tersely.

"Parking garage." His voice was surprisingly soft, but the gun pressed against her best friend's head made Jane second-guess that notion. She didn't doubt for one second that he would fire; he didn't seem like a man with much to lose.

Jane gave it a quick thought. "Okay," she agreed calmly. "I'll come with you. If I do, will you please leave my friend here?"

Maura made some kind of jerking movement, her eyes going wide, but the man's grip around her neck was iron-strong. Jane flashed her a warning look before returning her focus to the killer.

His gaze found the table with Trisha's cold corpse lying on it and his eyes swept over the body. "No," he finally responded with heartfelt remorse.

Jane licked her lips nervously. She didn't know the first thing about dealing with this, about reasoning with someone whose thought-processes were completely unpredictable, and the only person around who did was currently in a chokehold. "_Please,_" Jane pleaded. "She isn't one of the ones involved in this. Just me."

"No." An aching sadness. That's what Jane detected behind his voice. Like he didn't want to do this, but he had to.

Jane weighed her options. She was terrified of moving any closer with his finger hovering over the trigger. She couldn't gauge how he would react and she wasn't about to risk Maura's life in the process. He'd see her go for her gun or try to clue Korsak or Frost in with her phone, and given his firm hold on Maura, any attempt at distraction could end in catastrophe. Instead, she tried to appeal to his emotions, using what little information on his potential mental disorders Maura had provided earlier. "I'm begging you. She's my best friend. I… I want to save her. I _need_ to. I would do anything to save her." Focused intently on the man, she missed Maura's soft whimper.

The man sighed. "I wanted to save her, too." He straightened his arm past Maura's head, taking aim at Jane. Maura let out a tiny squeak. "Put that gun down. Leave it over there." He was gesturing towards the table with Trisha's body.

Jane hesitantly did as she was told, crossing the room and discarding her weapon, raising her empty hands again as she faced him. His bloodshot eyes swam around the room, making Jane wonder if she had a chance to snatch up her gun and shoot him. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to meet hers, as if he was literally smacked by a moment of clarity.

"Good," he said. "Now. Come with me."

…

_Continued in Chapter 5, Just Enough Light_


	5. Just Enough Light

Hello, everyone!

Thanks so much for the encouragement! Your feedback is really making it easier for me work out the strong and weak aspects of this story and helping me improve. I'm so happy so many of you are enjoying this.

This chapter is heading up to the climax, so it's a little short. But the next chapter is rather long and rather eventful to make up for it, and it's nearly complete! After this chapter, I'm thinking there will only be two, maybe three more.

Enjoy!

…

Chapter 5: Just Enough Light

…

The murderer's dilapidated Infinity was oxymoronic, the car clearly having cost upwards of a hundred thousand big ones but weather-beaten, scratched, and hole-ridden as if it had been abandoned for years. _Probably abandoned about the same time he abandoned his sanity_.

Jane lamented their luck. The parking garage was nearly empty. _Stupid fucking politicians,_ she mentally cursed._ Having stupid fucking political things going on._ She silently willed one of the officers downtown to return, whether it was for coffee, for a donut, to sneak away from work or even to go number two in a quiet place—she didn't care, she just needed _someone_ to discover this unhappy mess happening right under their noses. _Shit always has to go down when this building is empty_. Where were Frost and Korsak? Hadn't they gotten suspicious by now? Jane pulled out of her thoughts when she felt Maura's hands fumbling with the twine as the doctor fastened Jane's wrists together behind her back. _What kind of knots is she tying back there?_ Jane only gave it a moment's thought before dropping her head a little in resignation. _She's probably tying some foo foo Girl Scout's handbook super-advanced knot that's so perfect it'll never come undone._ The attempt at internal sarcasm did little to calm her nerves. Jane's hands clenched and unclenched with each rounding of the twine. She hated this helpless feeling. It always brought back the same memory.

Maura nervously tried to work around Jane's hands. She knew they must be hurting, right where Hoyt pierced them ages ago. It was hard enough to focus with the cold steel of the mentally impaired man's gun pressing against the back of her neck.

"Is that enough?" she asked him, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

"Go again," he said.

She pulled another careful loop around Jane's wrists as per his request, deciding she needed to try talking, try _anything_, even if this man was unpredictable. The functionality of his frontal lobe was questionable at best, but, he _had_ gotten himself this far. Perhaps if she could successfully reach out to the higher functions of his prefrontal cortex… She licked her lips, tying another knot, and turned her head to the side to address the man behind her. "May I ask your name?"

Jane stiffened at Maura's inquisitive tone, fighting the immediate compulsion to roll her eyes when Maura asked the man his name. _Trust Maura to spend the last moments of our lives getting friendly with the man who's going to kill us,_ she began to think. But she caught herself. Maura wasn't dumb. It was practically sacrilegious for 'Maura' and 'dumb' to be in the same sentence together. No, she had something cooking in that big brain of hers. Jane waited patiently for the man to respond, stealing a glance in his direction.

He looked up at the roof of the parking garage. "Make that tighter." His voice was soft, but the edge of threat was real.

Maura bit her lip, snapping her head back to do as he said. Jane flashed a quick smile of reassurance. Maura was scared. She could see it bubbling just behind the doctor's false air of composure.

"Harrison." The man said his name as though he had only just heard Maura's question.

The girls' eyes met. Yes. Maura definitely had some kind of plan.

"Harrison," Maura repeated, finishing what would hopefully be the last knot on Jane's bindings. She moved her hands out to show him she was done. "Harrison, what happened with Trisha?"

He reached around Maura with his free hand and yanked at Jane's bindings to test their strength. Satisfied, he grabbed Maura's arm and tugged her a careful distance away from Jane, eyes locked on the wily detective as he pocketed his gun, just daring her to move. Jane tested her restraints cautiously, but knew better than to try anything.

"I didn't mean to," he finally whispered by way of response. Harrison's hands were so big that one of them was enough to encase both of Maura's wrists in a viselike grip behind her back as he began to bind them together.

"I know," Maura said, wincing as he pulled a little too hard on the twine. "We both know you didn't mean to hurt her."

"She was really nice," he murmured. "They were both really nice, and I wanted to help them."

"Yeah… and it was 'really nice' of you to murder Trisha and then come for us," Jane couldn't help muttering under her breath.

Maura silenced any further commentary out of the detective with a sharp warning look. "How did you want to help them?" she continued, addressing Harrison but keeping her eyes trained on Jane.

"She wanted to show Amy," he said wistfully. "She wanted Amy to see it. See what her life without Amy would be like." His hands drifted to a stop by Maura's wrists, the strange man seemingly lost in thought. "She found me. I thought that if I could help someone like her, someone like me, I could redeem myself."

"Redeem yourself from what?" Maura asked hesitantly.

"Hitting the brakes," Harrison whispered, so quietly, so painfully, that in spite of everything, Maura's heart sank in empathy. She gave an infinitesimal shrug in response to Jane's questioning look, and neither had the chance to ask the man to elaborate because he continued like the three words were explanation enough. "I offered to help, to tape the message and bring it to Amy." His odd, hairless features scrunched in anger. "Everything was set up! And then… and then… I-I was trying to help!" He suddenly jerked the twine so sharply that Maura cried out and fell forward.

Jane launched herself towards Maura on impulse but Harrison's gun was already drawn, once again pressed into Maura's temple, his thick arm wrapped around her thin, so very thin neck. It looked like he could snap it just by flexing his biceps. Jane froze, felt perspiration drip down the back of her neck, felt fear pulse in her palms.

Somehow, despite the chokehold, Maura pressed on. "Your socks," she gasped. "You gave… her socks."

Harrison just looked confused.

"Th-that's right," Jane nodded shakily, picking up on where Maura was going. "When did you give Trisha your socks? Why?"

"To make sure she would be saved," he said, startling both doctor and detective when he started to cry. "Everything was all ready, and then I remembered she needed the socks. I put them on, and then she was dead."

Jane's eyes flicked back and forth from his bloodshot ones to Maura's. Jane didn't really understand, but from the look in Maura's eyes, the doctor had pieced things together.

Too little, too late, though. Harrison was finished and ready to go.

Jane had to admit, the tears staining Harrison's face, his obvious guilt and grief, made it harder for her to hate him. But the way he shoved Maura forward towards the back of his ugly, beat-up luxury sedan made her head swim with fury. _That damn gun!_ Jane knew that once she and Maura were both in his car, their chance of escape might as well be zilch. If she could just get a moment where Maura wasn't at his mercy…

Her chance came sooner than she expected.

Harrison popped the trunk and unceremoniously threw Maura in like she was a sack of potatoes. Jane couldn't see his gun, but at least it wasn't pressed into Maura's head anymore. He reached into the trunk to tie her ankles, and Jane lunged forward.

Maura suppressed a groan inside the trunk, aware of Harrison roping her ankles together. Her head was mashed into a corner and she found it hard to get her bearings straight. Harrison dropped the ropes suddenly, leaving Maura confused.

Until she heard the shot.

_No!_ She squirmed inside the dark end of the trunk, straining to see anything outside that would tell her what was going on, but she couldn't even see Harrison. "Jane?" Her ankle restraints were still loose, so she shuffled her legs around, trying desperately to dislodge them. She held her breath, straining to hear, before calling out again. "_Jane!_" A cold sense of dread washed over her. Who got shot? Jane, or Harrison? She fought off the impending hysteria. _Please not Jane… Please not Jane!_ If Jane had been shot, where was Harrison? And if it was Harrison, why couldn't she hear or see Jane?

Her heart stopped when she saw Harrison rise up into her vision from somewhere on the ground. Maura stilled. "…Jane?" she cried out hopelessly. No response. Not even a moan. Harrison glanced warily in her direction before bending down to where Maura couldn't see him again. He reappeared with Jane slung over his shoulder, her arms swaying limply as he approached the car. Maura saw blood, almost luminescent in the parking garage fluorescents, seeping through Jane's dark hair. "…No…" The weakly defiant word was barely audible as it left her mouth.

Somewhere inside her, through the depths of her fear in the moment, buried beneath her upbringing, beneath her education and discipline of emotion—something that felt wedged into her very person—broke.

The first sob tore its way up her throat painfully, the flow of tears unstoppable, and she hunched over to bury her face in her knees, to hide from anything and everything that was going on right now. This she couldn't deal with. This she just could not handle. There was nothing right about it, nothing logical, no cushion of analysis or scientific explanation to burrow into for safety or refuge. Nothing at all… No, this wasn't a world Maura could stand living in. Not now. Not after truly realizing the extent of her raw need.

She both heard and felt the thud as Harrison tossed Jane into the trunk as easily as he had Maura. She curled into herself as tightly as she could, sobs wracking her body. Then Harrison slammed the trunk shut, and there was no more light.

…

Even in the dream, Jane felt groggy and sluggish. The concrete was so familiar to her now. She realized as soon as she came into this dream world that it was the subject of her nightmare from the night before. But this time around, everything was dull, fuzzy. The rough surface of the concrete walls appeared blurry and soft and even Hoyt's face was a muted distortion. But it was easy enough for Jane to make out his wicked, rotting grin.

There were two spots of distant pain, one like a scrape on her hip, one like a bruise on the back of her head. But the thing that worried her most was the darkness that ringed the periphery of her vision. If she looked at Hoyt seated comfortably in his chair, the wooden door on her right was no longer visible, immersed in the murky grey that encased her sight. She knew the door was there because every once and a while her eyes would dart over to it, but then Hoyt would disappear into the ring of blindness and that made her nervous. So she settled for keeping her eyes glued on his ugly mug.

Hoyt was content with grinning at her only for so long, and he finally broke the thick, hazy silence in the concrete room. "So. Here we are again." He rocked a bit in his chair. "Thought you could block that nightmare out, did you?"

Yes. She _had_ blocked it out. She'd managed to shove every piece of it into the darkest recesses of her mind, except for the burning sense of confusion and discomfort. Now Jane recalled every vivid, excruciating detail. It meant something… it meant _something_, but her brain was working painfully slow and she couldn't think clearly enough to figure it out. Her thoughts were so muddled she felt drunk; her disorientation was mocking the clarity she'd had when she first stormed the endless hallway last night. She blinked dazedly when Hoyt suddenly seemed farther away, and it took her a moment to realize she had stumbled backwards into the wall. It felt like brittle carpet as her hands sought purchase to steady her lurching frame.

"Careful, now, Detective. You're already on your way out. Don't want to rush things. It's much better going slow."

"You… you _shut… _the_ fuck up,_" Jane managed through a jaw clenched in concentration as the room swooned in her limited vision. She grappled at the wall for an anchor but found none. Hoyt leaned forward in his chair giddily as if to spring at her, but he didn't get up. Instead he just nodded to himself, like this was his own doing, like it was his plan all along. He was enjoying this and that made Jane sick with rage. But her own condition distracted her, chipping at her anger. What was going on? Why was she here—again? Where was Maura, and… what's his name… she couldn't remember his name. _I have to get out._ Nervously, she glanced at the wooden door, the only entrance and exit.

"The fire's raging out there," Hoyt noted, drawing her eyes back to him as he settled back into his chair. "That's why you're in here with me." His blurry smirk fell into a frown. "I'm kind of disappointed, Janie. That you're more afraid of _that—_" he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. "—than me."

That knowledge surprised Jane, setting off some distant memory in the back of her mind that she couldn't quite pin down to decipher. Stronger was the feeling of grim satisfaction that something had displaced Hoyt from his throne of terror, but a second thought mirthlessly pointed out that it only meant something worse was taking his place. She found her eyes on the wooden door again. Maybe he was lying. Maybe she could escape through it.

"Thinking about heading out… or should I say, in? Brave, yes, brave. You were always brave in the face of danger. Immediate danger. Physical danger. The danger you could point your gun at." Hoyt shook his head in pity. "Can't shoot the fire, Janie. Can't shoot the fire."

Jane groaned, feeling weaker by the second. Was everything really hopeless, or was Hoyt just trying to paint it that way? Wasn't this _her_ house? Wasn't _she_ supposed to be in control of everything? She dropped weakly to her hands and knees, arduously crawling towards the door. Whatever was out there… maybe it would hurt. _Maybe it'll just kill me and get it over with,_ she thought wryly, _but at least it'll be different… at least it won't be this._ Her progress was slow, and every foot closer drained her already depleted energy unbearably. But the door was definitely getting closer. As she came within five feet, she noticed that the darkness at the edge of her vision was encroaching on the center, slowly blotting out the world. She stopped crawling, panicked. _I'm going… blind?_

Hoyt laughed, privy to her thoughts. "Of course not. I told you, you're on your way out. I mean, you're _dying._" He rolled his head backward to look up, eyes squinting as if he were staring into the sun. "I wonder if Dr. Isles knows."

"Knows… what?" Jane asked distractedly, inching towards the door once more with fading conviction.

"That you're still alive."

…

Traveling in the trunk of Harrison's car was surreal. Hearing the busy streets around them, radios blaring all genres of music, the rev of a motorcycle, the squeak of old brakes, the purr of an idling engine, somehow had a calming effect on Maura's shattered psyche. She had tried shouting as soon as they pulled out of the parking garage, but Harrison had switched on his car's stereo to drown her out. She found herself taking sadistic comfort in the idea that, wherever they were headed, Harrison would probably kill her there. That comfort was enough to give her courage to make use of what little time remained.

After only a minute on the road, Maura finally straightened out. She needed to look. She needed to see.

Daylight filtered through a few places where the rust had eaten at the metal in the car's side. Maura let her eyes adjust.

Harrison had thrown Jane in so that she was facing Maura. The detective's hands were still bound behind her back. Her face was dim, but Maura's memory filled in the few features she couldn't quite make out. "Oh, Jane…" she whimpered. The detective's mouth was slightly ajar, her face worry-free. For a moment, Maura imagined they were in her home after a nice dinner and a bad movie. They had been talking on the guest bed, and that's where Jane had fallen asleep like she had so many times before. That's when the doctor would study the woman's face, casually memorizing every detail before falling asleep herself, beyond content to be beside her favorite person in the world. The memories brought a sense of peace to Maura like no other. Perhaps death would be like drifting to sleep beside Jane.

Maura could follow the familiar curves of her cheekbones, chin, and neck with her eyes closed. She had recently found herself wanting to reach out, to touch them—just to examine the unique skeletal structure, she had thought, or maybe just because she was curious. Now she knew it wasn't about skeletal structure or scientific inquiry… it was pure need. And this was her last chance.

Still, she found herself hesitating, which intrigued her. _Why is this any different?_ she wondered idly. How many dead bodies had she seen in her lifetime? How many breathless forms, lifeless masses of water, proteins, lipids, and other earthly materials had Maura examined? This was another of the same. This was just one more human that Maura could finally understand. She could sit down and parse the pieces until she solved the puzzle. At least, that's what the logical side of Maura told her.

But through the calm of the logic, the sting of ragged loss flared up anew. It was foolish to pretend this body was anything like the others. It was nothing like them. _Permission,_ Maura thought. _I wish she could give me permission._ Yes. Because this wasn't a body, this was _Jane_. Jane, who singlehandedly rearranged Maura's understanding of the world while the doctor's back was turned, like a cheater rearranging pieces on a chessboard, grinning innocently any time Maura turned to look. Maura was no stranger to death. But this… this was very different. _Can I, Jane?_

She tested the twine around her wrists. To her surprise, after just three or four hard pulls, one of the knots came loose. Her heart panged with hope, but Maura refused to let it consume her. She was able to separate her wrists, not very far, but maybe far enough. It was a struggle to maneuver her arms in the cramped trunk, but she was just barely able to pass her elbow between the rope and her back. Then, through a sheer feat of flexibility from years of yoga, she was somehow able to pull that arm up and over her head.

There. She had her hands, they were separate, and they were in front of her. She pushed back the thrill of her success; she didn't have time to waste. She wanted every moment to appreciate before all future moments were cruelly pilfered. Tentatively, heart pumping in her chest, she brought shaking hands to Jane's face. Her skin was even smoother than she remembered it being. She wondered how she survived all the fleeting contact she'd ever shared with Jane without touching her harder, and longer, and more often. She fought back a wave of tears as her hand slid down Jane's cheek to her chin. That chin, always high in the face of danger or injustice or discrimination. Always proud and bold.

The doctor dropped her hand, committing the feeling to memory. Her eyes traced the rest of Jane's body. She needed to remember every last detail down to… Maura's eyes froze on Jane's hip. Blood. She sat up as much as she could in the cramped space. The wound looked like… like the scoring of a bullet. Yes, a bullet had grazed her there.

_But that means…_

There was only one shot fired. If that was where the bullet made contact, then… Maura smacked her head against the trunk wall without heed as she rushed to check the back of Jane's head. Blood, but that was no bullet hole. Already her hand was on Jane's neck. _Pulse… pulse. Come on!_ No pulse. Maura cursed. How could she have been so foolish? Her brain had already pieced together what had happened, but there was no time to dwell on it now.

Six minutes. The human brain could go up to six minutes without oxygen before the brain began to shut down. Six minutes before nerve cells began to die. Six minutes before permanent brain damage.

_How long has it been…?_ Maura quickly backtracked to the moment Harrison threw Jane into the trunk, coming up with her best estimate. O_nly four minutes, maybe four minutes and thirty seconds… there's still time!_

She pushed Jane as flat as she would go. She tilted Jane's chin up and pinched her nose. She took a deep breath.

_This will work._ It had to. Maura wouldn't accept any other outcome.

…

_Continued in chapter 6, Questionable Priorities_


	6. Questionable Priorities

Hi guys. So I put my all into this chapter and I hope it flows as smoothly as I wanted it to. As for words of wisdom regarding this chapter? Well, trust me. I'm a romantic. That's all I have to say.

Thank you thank you _thank you_ for all the kind words and feedback. Drop me a line at the end of this chapter and let me know what you think is going to happen, or how you're feeling, if you have the time. Comments, critiques, and questions and concerns always welcome.

Here we go! Buckle your seatbelts. Pun intended.

…

Chapter 6: Questionable Priorities

…

"You having any luck over there?" Korsak asked gruffly from his desk.

Frost shook his head slowly, dragging a hand tiredly down his face and stretching the skin in hopes that it might wake him up a bit. "This guy was good. I think he already got what he wanted before I even figured out that he was here."

"Hah." Korsak shook his head pitifully at his younger counterpart. "And here you're always bragging about your 'unmatched security' and your 'impenetrable firefox.'"

Frost raised an eyebrow and laughed acerbically. "Excuse me? First of all, what, firefox? It's firewall, old-timer. You're thinking of the browser Firefox, if you even actually know what that is. And I don't recall saying that the firewall I set up is impenetrable—they don't pay me enough for that."

Korsak made a face and shrugged. "Whatever. I'm not going to pretend I know how this new crap works." He paused. "And I'm not that old."

Frost rolled his eyes, smirking, but chose not to comment. He turned his attention back to his screen, reading over console data and network diagnostics. "I just don't even see how he slipped in and slipped out. There's evidence that he was here," he gestured at his computer screen, "but nothing indicating the connections he utilized to gain such stealthy access."

"Is he still there, digging through the files?"

"No, I think he left before I even restarted, when Jane went down to the morgue."

Korsak furrowed his brows. "Speaking of Jane, where the hell is she?"

"Dunno." Frost glanced away from his screen. "Said she'd be up in five."

Korsak checked his watch. "Wasn't that almost ten minutes ago?"

"Yeah. Think I should give her a call?"

The older detective considered. "You saw how she was huffing and puffing this morning. If Dr. Isles is helping her get over that little black rain cloud, I say let them be. She doesn't exactly put her best into cases when she's like that."

"Huh…" Barry opened his mouth to comment, then stopped himself.

But Korsak caught the look on his face. "What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"Come on." Korsak leaned forward. "I know that look."

Frost shrugged. "It's none of my business." But he was grinning, and Korsak matched that grin.

"Out with it. Got some gossip?"

"Well, not really gossip, just a feeling."

"And?"

Frost glanced around the empty bullpen conspiratorially. "I'm just working on instinct here. But like you said, Jane's been in an awful mood all day, right?"

"Right."

"She was falling asleep at her desk all morning until she went downstairs for coffee."

"Mhmm."

"And usually when she's in a bad mood, Maura comes up to check on her, or Jane goes down there all the time, or they're at least texting each other, right?"

"Right."

"Well today, none of that was going on. Jane went down to get coffee and came back up pretty fast, so she probably didn't stop by the morgue. And not once did she pick up her phone to text the Doc. In fact, the only communication I saw between them all day was when Maura texted her saying she found something."

Korsak frowned, not completely following. "So what, they're in a fight?"

"I don't think it's just any fight," Frost said suggestively, wagging his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Korsak looked taken aback. "Jane and Dr. Isles…? I don't buy it."

"Oh come on, you mean to tell me you haven't even considered it before?"

"They fight all the time."

"And then they make up. And _then_ they have 'sleepovers.'" He used air quotes for emphasis.

"Hmph." Korsak crossed his arms, part of him wanting to protect his old partner and deny Frost's assumptions simply out of her right to privacy. But now that he thought about it… "I guess it's crossed my mind a couple times."

"See?" Frost flashed a grin. "How about we make a bet?"

Korsak stifled a laugh and turned back to the stack of papers on his desk. "How about we catch this hacker-murderer of ours and worry about making bets later?"

…

The doctor in Maura was in a state of chaotic hysteria. The position for cardiopulmonary resuscitation was all wrong. Jane needed to be flat on her back, but her bound hands were in the way. Her head needed to be tilted back just a bit more, but there was no room. How was one supposed to do chest compressions when the space was too small? Not to mention the pathetic statistical likelihood, or lack thereof, of success and the ever increasing chances that—

Somehow, Maura silenced the doctor. To hell with chances, probability, and statistics. She focused solely on her mantra of the moment: _This will work_.

Maura met Jane's lips with her own unceremoniously. This certainly was never the way she had pictured this particularly anticipated event happening, but there was no time to question happenstance. _One breath. Two breaths. Thirty chest compressions._ The chest compressions at the awkward angle were tiring and far from efficient. Maura ignored this. Her shoulders were quick to ache, and her hands dampened Jane's shirt with sweat where she was giving the compressions.

_This. Will. Work. _She chanted one word for each chest compression. She finished thirty compressions, checked for a pulse. None. She didn't miss a moment. One breath. Two breaths. Thirty more compressions. Maura knocked her head against the roof of the trunk recklessly each time she drew back for another push. Her breaths were ragged, her muscles burning, but the hope pressed her forward. If there was a chance, any chance at all… Jane deserved it. And Maura needed it. More than anything. Earlier that day, Maura had allowed herself to hope that there might be a future for the two addled friends, and maybe, maybe Jane might decide to return the feelings Maura had only just discovered. But as tears mingled with the sweat streaming down Maura's face, she knew that Jane's side of this had nothing to do with the desperation she felt now. It wouldn't matter later how Jane felt, if Jane hated her, refused to speak to her, refused to see her for the rest of their lives. Maura just needed her alive. Alive and living and breathing and laughing somewhere with someone, happy. So even as the time slipped away with no results to show for her jerking, stinging muscles, Maura only doubled her efforts.

_This. Will. Work. This. Will. Work. THIS. WILL. WORK._

She couldn't remember how many times she had checked for a pulse. But after so many checks, maybe too many checks, her hand faltered on Jane's neck, wondering if what she was feeling in her fingers was real or just the pounding of blood through her own veins. A thrill spiraled through her. There it was! Faint, irregular, but it was there. Her own breath frozen in her nearly bursting chest, Maura tilted Jane's chin and the detective's throat made a faint gurgling, wheezing noise.

To Maura it was the most beautiful noise in the world.

She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, quickly leaning over the detective. "Jane…?" she whispered. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably from overexertion and fear as she cupped them around Jane's face. "Talk to me. Open your eyes. Come _on_, Jane."

Hope surged anew as the odd wheezes continued, and even as Maura tried to quell the hope, it surged over her severely weakened barriers. Her trembling fingers found Jane's nose, traced it down to her lips and back up over her cheekbone. "Wake up, Jane. Please. _Please!_"

The breaths began as dry coughs and quick gasps of air as Jane's lungs gradually restarted and forced the increased levels of carbon dioxide out. Then, as her breathing leveled off into steadier shudders, Jane's eyelids fluttered, stilled, and fluttered again. Maura watched, speechless in apprehension. Finally, those beautiful eyes opened, unfocused and dim—but definitely conscious.

"Jane!" Maura whispered as relief flooded the doctor's system. She knew it was a healthy dose of oxytocin that spread the cool, calming waves through her, but part of her wanted to believe that Jane's eyes, gradually finding focus in the poorly-lit trunk, were the only things responsible for the euphoric feeling of security she suddenly felt.

"Mm… Maura?" Jane rasped weakly. Charcoal-dark eyes gradually met misty hazel.

_Good,_ came a thought from the corner of her mind where Maura had shoved her doctor side._ Her pupils are dilating properly. Watch for vomiting, memory loss, and ensure that she stays awake._ Maura smoothed back Jane's damp hair. "I'm here, Jane. I'm right here."

Jane's expression was dazed at first, but a weak smile ghosted her lips. "I know you are," she murmured. She blinked languidly, realizing that the world around her was bumping and shifting. "S'there 'n earthquake?"

"No," Maura whispered, grinning through tears. "Give it a moment, Jane, it will all come back to you."

"Mmm…" Jane closed her eyes for longer than Maura was comfortable, the doctor fearing that she was about to fall asleep, or pass out, or worse, but Jane's eyes slid open again just as Maura was about to shake her awake. "'Sss a weird earthquake." Jane focused on Maura again, appearing to put great effort into forming her words, and possibly coherent thoughts. "Where's… Harrison?"

There. No immediate memory loss. The relief was palpable in Maura's chest. "We're in his car," she murmured through the thick ball of emotion in her throat. She rested her forehead against Jane's, tears continuing to tread down her face. "I thought you were dead." It was so good, so wonderful to hear the detective take in mouthfuls of air. Breathing was obviously essential to human life, but… never before had another human's simple respiration seemed so vital to Maura.

As consciousness and lucidity were slowly regained, more memories flooded Jane's very rattled brain. Some were clearer than others, and some were from her nightmares. It took her a long moment to separate reality from her dreams. She attempted to speak many times before she was finally satisfied with her clarity, relaying the information that seemed most vital to relay. "I charged at him, and he shot at me," she said, half to herself, as if verbally confirming the events helped her process them. She shifted uncomfortably, increasingly aware of various aches and pains in her body. "He only grazed me. But he took me out with the butt of his gun." She groaned. "Right in the back of my… Ow, God _damn_ that hurts! Son of a bitch!"

Maura could not help giggling as she cried, wholly comforted to see that Jane was still her old self. "You are concussed," she explained hurriedly. "The impact from his weapon created enough force to smash your brain right into your skull, and the effect on your nervous system halted your respiratory functions. It happens sometimes even with mild concussions, but I suspect it was because of the location of the point of impact on your skull." She spoke her next words with less enthusiasm. "You didn't have a pulse, but the CPR brought you back." After letting that sink in for a second, Maura pulled away, giving Jane some space and giving herself a chance to check over the gradually recovering detective.

Jane's heart leapt like a teenage girl's when Maura said 'CPR.' _Her lips… on mine…?_ She scolded herself for the adolescent thought. Maura had just been doing her duty as a doctor. It was a serious, lifesaving procedure, not the subject of a demented romance novel. Still, she pressed her lips together absently as if hoping to recall the feeling, finding herself distraught that she could not.

Maura noticed the discreet movement, but chose to say nothing. Drawing back from Jane had reminded her of their current predicament. She pointed toward the roof of the trunk. "…He broke the emergency release mechanism."

"Of course he did," Jane muttered distractedly. "Where are we... and how long was I out?"

"We're still somewhere in downtown Boston, based on my calculations," Maura said. "You were unconscious for under ten minutes." She shook her head and softly added, "I thought too much time had passed. I thought I was too late…"

"Maura…" Jane shifted in the tight space of the trunk to look her in the eye, unable to find suitable words for her immeasurable gratitude. "Thank you. Really, I… Thank you."

Maura nodded twice, trying to rub away her endless tears. "Don't… thank me," she whispered, dropping her gaze. "I know… I know this isn't the right time, and, you probably don't want to hear this, but… I need you, Jane. I couldn't…" She took a shaky breath and met Jane's glistening eyes again, her own burning with conviction as she prepared to lay all of her cards on the table. "I couldn't… let you die, because I'm selfish, and, I need you here. This is new to me, even though… even though now it seems vaguely familiar, as though it's been a part of me for a long time and I just never thought to see it." She paused, ignoring the nervous fluttering of her heart, trying to blindly match words to what she was feeling—what she needed Jane to know, _now_, before anything else in this crazy, unpredictable world could happen. "I need you here," she repeated carefully, "and I… _cannot_ help it, because I… I don't think there can be a 'me' or a 'here' without you. Not a happy one. Not a real one… Not without you."

The mood changed instantly. Within the fog of her concussion, Jane felt the now familiar discomfort rising up from some unknown place, even as Maura's words made her heart jump, made her breaths catch, made her skin burn in a way that somehow felt as pleasant as it did painful. Maura's brow creased as she searched Jane's face, the small bit of hope she had allowed herself to feel, the one that had powered her through this redefining of her need, turning to vapor at Jane's twisted expression.

Jane could have sworn she saw Maura's hope evaporate into the dusty air of the trunk, billowing upward like the thick, smoky fog that coated the concrete hallway before slinking out through the holes that let in the light. Maura's feelings, Jane's feelings—It was all too much. "God, Maura," Jane murmured, clenching her eyes shut in hopes of blocking out the confusion.

They were locked in the back of a mentally unstable murderer's car, most certainly heading straight towards some kind of unfortunate, untimely demise. Yet Jane didn't know whether she feared more for her life or her sanity. This thing with Maura was driving her _insane_. She opened her eyes again to see that Maura had turned away toward the other side of the trunk. _Good,_ Jane thought, _It's easier for me to think without her looking at me with those damn eyes_.

Those eyes… Jane liked those eyes. She liked when they looked at her, when they were alight with laughter, creased in worry, or darkened with passion. She liked when they gave Jane a onceover, when they gleamed with mischief, when they scrutinized, when they reassured her with that positively radiant sincerity. She liked when they were half-lidded after a tough week, or innocently excited after a longwinded scientific explanation, or narrowed after one of Jane's sarcastic comments. _Oh god, Jane. What's wrong with you?_ When had all these feelings even started? Where had they come from? Jane closed her eyes again, trying to remember. _When did things get so… weird?_ Yesterday, the conversation…

_What about you and I?_

Jane ran through the night, the long conversation, the feelings, the resulting drama and internal struggles. And she realized something. _No,_ she thought. _No, that wasn't it at all. This started… a long time ago. _She froze at her own revelation. _This discomfort comes from… from how long I've been avoiding this._ Something came back to her, about a room, and Hoyt, and the fire. _So… so face it._ Jane wanted to blame Maura for bringing the whole thing up, for putting it in Jane's head. But it had already been there long before then, locked away with a series of other impossibilities, like becoming as successful as her high school classmates, or maybe one day making sergeant, or getting a house on the cape… No, even those things were about a million times as possible as this. Jane may have been boyish and different growing up, may still be a little boyish, a little different now, but she had always been attracted to boys. Liking boys, that's what Jane did. Liking girls, that's _not_ something Jane did. But liking Maura…

Maura was… stunning. Maura was a man's dream, a woman's envy. Everything about Maura intimidated the world around her and demanded the utmost respect from everyone the doctor met. She was brilliant; she could wield her intelligence like a devastating weapon, but almost always used it to heal, fix, and solve. Maura was _nice_… and _honest_ and she cared so genuinely that it melted Jane's heart. She was well off and could have anything she wanted, do anything she wanted with her life. Anything at all.

Instead she spent most of her time… well, tirelessly solving crime. And the rest of her time? _…With me, I guess._ Jane had never questioned. Jane had never _minded_, too stubborn to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she had never needed to question.

She pursued this train of thought and tried to recall just a day in the past year where she hadn't spent time with Maura. Maybe a handful. What about a day where she hadn't spoken with Maura? Maybe one, two at most. A day when she hadn't thought about her? Jane's breath hitched at her own obliviousness. Maura was the feature presentation in the movie of Jane's life. She was the plot of her day, the subject of idle thoughts, the cause of a lingering grin when she was washing the dishes alone or Jane's happy place during a frustrating conversation with her mother. She was the best excuse to end dates early or stay up late or drink another beer. She was the one constantly good thing at work… No, she was the one constantly good thing in Jane's life. Always there. Always full of love and always ready to receive Jane's. Jane had never questioned their relationship. She had never thought about why it was so comfortable to be near Maura, to sleep by her, to read her expressions and freely disclose emotions she would never share with anyone else. She enjoyed Maura's closeness, she… she enjoyed her touch. Jane's cheeks reddened. _Really?_ But it was true. Maura's hands were so… calm, and warm, and soft, and comforting. Jane was _not_ touchy-feely, but the personal space buffer she always built between herself and the rest of the world somehow freely admitted the doctor with no resistance whatsoever. And Jane liked touching Maura just as much. She liked having excuses to touch her and be near her. Wasn't that simply out of closeness, out of friendship? _Warm, smooth, perfect._ Perhaps not… Those didn't sound like adjectives one associated with a friend.

And the absurdity of the situation hit Jane once again, scattering her thoughts. Trapped in a trunk, heading towards certain death, and all she could think about was…

"Maura," she said, her voice breaking. "Maura, I am so sorry."

Maura looked over her shoulder at Jane, her expression hard to read in the dim light. She turned over completely, showing Jane her newly twine-free wrists. "I got it off," she said with a forced smile. "Turn around, let me work on yours."

Jane hesitated before she tediously turned over in the limited space, wracking her brain for the right words to express herself as Maura started to untie her bindings. Nothing even mildly acceptable came to mind.

Then, her phone rang.

"…The hell?" The ringing was hard to hear over Harrison's music, but Jane felt the vibration too. She was lying on it.

She could have smacked herself. She could have thrown herself off a _cliff_ she felt so stupid. They could have tried to call for help precious minutes ago! "Quick, Maura!"

Maura was biting her lip, struggling to see the intricate knots with so little light. "I'm working as fast as I can. You could always just call them back, you know."

"Maura…" Jane growled through gritted teeth.

"Hang on, I'm almost done. In my French académie I learned how to tie knots that hold fast but come apart quite easily with a tug at just… the right… angle."

Jane scoffed at her own surprise. "I don't even want to know _why_ you—"

"There!"

Jane felt her hands come loose and immediate pushed off the bottom of the trunk, fumbling madly for her phone. She answered it somewhat breathlessly. "—Frost!"

"Jane? Where are you? You said you'd be up in five minutes and it's been, like, twenty-five—"

"Shut up for a second. Listen. The guy who killed Trisha, we're in his trunk."

"… Say _what_ now?"

Jane stumbled with frustration through an abridged explanation. "He got into the morgue through the loading bay, held us at gunpoint, tied us up, and threw us in his trunk. I have no idea where he's taking us." Jane paused as she heard Frost repeating her words to Korsak in the background. Maura had scooted down to the front of the trunk to work on untying Jane's ankles. Jane absently bent her knees up to make her legs more accessible while she described the make and color of Harrison's car. "I need you to connect to the GPS tracker on my phone, help figure out where the hell he's taking us."

"Already on it, Jane. Korsak is making some calls. There was an armed robbery downtown but we'll have some people on the car ASAP."

Jane sighed. "Great. Hopefully they'll get here before he kills us." Jane had felt the car picking up speed. Were they on a highway, a suburban street? They definitely weren't downtown anymore.

"Are you guys okay?"

"Yes, we're fine—"

Maura had reappeared, Jane's legs suddenly mobile again, and snatched the phone out of Jane's hands. "_I'm_ fine, Jane is not."

"Doc," Frost greeted. "Glad you're okay. What's wrong with Jane?"

Maura wriggled herself towards the front of the trunk to get a better look at the bullet wound. "She's been grazed by a bullet on her left hip. The wound appears to have mostly clotted."

"Give me the phone, Maura," Jane ordered with narrowed eyes.

Maura skillfully dodged the detective's attempts to steal it back. "However," she continued nonchalantly, "she's suffered a head injury, central rear skull, just above the point at which the occipital fuses with the parietal." She fussed over Jane's head, turning it to get a better look at the wound and ignoring Jane's loud protests. "Bleeding appears to have stopped, but she's suffered a concussion."

"Alright, Doc." It was Korsak on the phone now. "We copy that. We'll have a medical team ready to move in as soon as the scene is secure."

"Thank you, Sergeant Detective Korsak."

Jane finally managed to snatch her phone back, sending a glare Maura's way that was pointedly ignored as the doctor hunched over to free her own ankles.

"Korsak?"

"Jane. You're on speaker now. Is your occipital okay?"

"Shut it. I need you to look up the perp." Jane groped at the side of her phone, turning it on speaker.

"Who is he?"

"All we know is that his name is Harrison, and he's mentally unstable."

"Is that music in the background?"

"He turned the car radio up so no one could hear us shout." Maura's explanation was muffled as she worked on her ankle bindings.

Jane repeated her words so that Frost and Korsak could hear. "He may be mentally unstable, but he's smart. If Maura hadn't figured out how to untie her hands, there's no way we would have been able to answer your call." _For more reasons than one…_ Jane silently thanked Maura once more for saving her life.

"Aw jeez," Korsak muttered.

"Give us a description," Frost cut in.

"White. Maura thinks he's around 35 years old, over six feet—I'd say nearly six-five. He's bald, has no hair on his face, or his body as far as I can tell. Maura says it's a mental disorder called tech… tich…"

"Trichotillomania," Maura corrected her with a muffled grunt, successfully removing the twine at her ankles.

"Trich-o-till-o-mania," Jane repeated into the phone carefully. "It's where you have a compulsion to pull out all of your hair, or something like that."

"I'm cross-referencing that with the leads we found from the hacking…" There was a short pause and Jane heard the clacking of Frost's keyboard. "I think I found him, Jane. Harrison Gatby, 34. He worked… as a web technician at BCU… Masters in Engineering and IT… Says he did some unspecified work for the FBI, then went back to BCU and left two years ago."

"Here I got a hit in the psych database," Korsak said. "He was a patient at BMHI until a month ago… it doesn't say here under what circumstances he was released…"

Jane listened quietly with growing concern as she felt the car slowing down, making more turns. Wherever they were headed, they must be nearly there.

"Oh man, Jane," Frost continued. "Listen to this. His wife lost both her feet in a horrible car accident two years ago. Harrison survived with minor injuries to his ribs, leg, and head… something about nerve damage. There's a success story article here about the incredible physical therapy it took to regain the ability to do most physical activities."

"That explains his physique," Maura said, mostly to Jane. "If he suffered a specific kind of nerve damage… even if they repaired it in the hospital after the accident, he probably had to do rigorous bodybuilding exercises on a daily basis in order to restore normal functionality to the affected muscular body tissues."

"Aw hell," Frost murmured. "Last year, his wife killed herself and he had a mental breakdown. He's been at the Mental Health Institution until a month ago, like Korsak said."

"That explains the socks," Maura murmured to herself.

Jane ignored Maura's comment, anxious about the slowing movements of the car. "Frost, where are we?"

"Uh… You're currently on Westland Ave, heading towards Fenway."

Jane chewed her lip as she thought. "What the hell is down here…? Did you check his address?"

"Yeah, Jane, he's listed as owning an apartment in South Boston, but right now he's heading west, away from it."

"What about Trisha's home?" Korsak suggested.

Jane could faintly hear Frost typing. "Mmm… nope, that's a lot closer, but he's already passed it."

Jane gasped when it hit her. "He's going to Amy's. Shit."

Frost was typing in overdrive. "You guys are about eight minutes from her address," he said tensely. Jane and Maura looked at each other. "Most of the force is downtown and a lot of patrol squads were sent to the robbery scene to help process. We're directing the four nearest squads there. Closest one is about seven minutes behind. SWAT's on its way too but the squads will get there first. Hang in there!"

They heard Korsak swearing under his breath. "Do you have anything to blind him with when he opens the trunk? Something heavy to throw?"

Jane and Maura scrounged around, but the trunk was empty of anything but dried dirt and twine. Maura's eyes paused on the pile of twine she had collected. "Jane. We can fool him into believing that we're still bound and surprise him."

"That's if he doesn't shoot us first," Jane muttered bitterly.

"Well he hasn't shot you yet," Frost commented. "Maybe he isn't planning to kill you."

"Unlikely," Maura said matter-of-factly with a frown. "He seems to be sticking to some kind of plan. He is obviously a well-educated man, and has demonstrated his meticulous and careful nature. If he is heading to the home of someone related to the victim, we are likely to see a repeat event." Her face expressed the fear that did not register in her voice.

"Lovely," Jane said darkly.

"You're getting closer," Frost warned.

Jane kicked into cop-mode. "Okay, let's do this. I'm setting down the phone and turning speaker off, guys, but I'm leaving the call on. I hope you're recording this. You might be able to overhear things that'll be useful in a trial. …Maybe you'll hear the last grizzly moments."

"Jane!" Korsak growled hoarsely.

"We'll make it out," the detective said seriously, meeting Maura's eyes. "Don't worry."

"Okay. We'll be on the line if you need anything. Just stall. Talk to him. Distract him. They'll be there soon. Good luck." Frost's words were thick, but Jane could think of nothing more to say. She was already acting more confident than she felt. She would probably just make things worse by leaving any further parting words.

Sparing one last glance at her phone, she quickly hid it somewhat under herself and the two captives hurriedly set to work. In no time, they had the thin ropes wrapped around their ankles again, knotted so that they would come loose with a quick pull. Jane set to work on Maura's wrists, doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her head and stinging pain in her hip. She felt a warm stickiness saturating her side; the gash in her hip was bleeding again. _Great_. "I'm just tucking the end of the rope in," she told Maura. "You'll be able to get it off with just a little pulling."

"Okay," Maura said quietly, her voice clipped with apprehension and something else that was too vague for Jane's bushed brain to decipher. But her tone pinched something in Jane and almost begged her to do something about it. She tentatively reached a hand out. "It'll be okay, Maura…"

Maura watched the hand warily as it approached her face and flinched when it made contact with her cheek, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jane's hand froze. Despite her earlier personal discovery, this physical act sent the uncertainty coursing through her violently like a punch and she sucked in her breath. But her realization… She definitely… wanted to do this. Even through the uncertainty, Jane could feel her own desire urging her, insisting she press on. But the confusion rallied anew. No matter how much sense this had made earlier… this was _ludicrous!_ Did Maura really want this? _Do I… really want this?_ Jane kept the feather-light pressure on Maura's cheek, deliberating, until the doctor's hazel eye fluttered open again.

"Jane…" she said on a breath, her eyes still fearful, but also that mysterious something else. Dark, hopeful, pleading. Those eyes. Those eyes that asked for nothing more than what Jane already felt.

Jane leaned closer. She wanted to see further into those eyes. She wanted to know everything underneath them, everything they represented—no, not just know everything, but feel everything too. The confusion stung her nerves, punished her for every inch closer she got. It was like a fire, singeing her with painful heartbeats and ragged breaths. The wounds in her side and the back of her head burned furiously. Her nightmare came back to her, and there she was again, standing between the endless black and the wall of terrifying flame. Even so, she pressed forward, the soft skin beneath her hand grounding her, guiding her. _The only way out is in._ Her forehead bumped into Maura's, but that wasn't close enough, even though Jane could see the carefully applied mascara on Maura's eyelashes, the streaks of gold in her hazel eyes, her pupils twisting as they dilated. _What are you doing?_ some part of her screamed. _What feels right,_ another part answered. The heat was all-consuming. Jane angled her chin forward until her nose brushed against the tip of Maura's. Her eyes fell closed instinctively. She felt Maura's warm breaths quicken against her face.

Some feeling inside Jane grew. From the pit of her stomach, it tore through her like a broken dam of cooling water, quenching the fire of her confusion and replacing it with a fire of a different kind. _You kiss boys,_ a small, weakening voice said guardedly. _You have to marry a man, make your mother proud_. Jane nudged Maura's nose with her own. _My mother wants me to be happy,_ Jane responded distractedly to the voice, empowered by this new kind of feeling. _And this…_ She pushed her chin forward one millimeter at a time. _I need her… I…_ She could taste Maura's breath. _She needs me... And this feels…_

The very tip of Jane's lips finally brushed against Maura's, sending a shiver down her spine that made her gasp, her heart race.

_This feels… right._

"…Jane…" Maura murmured against her mouth, her voice rough, earnest.

Her name on Maura's lips was the last bit of encouragement she needed. Jane pushed forward, and they kissed.

It was a slow, soft kiss that Maura returned, very PG by Jane's standards. But as far as she was concerned, she had never truly been kissed before this moment. Jane felt drunk the way her head was spinning, the way her lips tingled with each second of contact, the way her heart was well past hammering—she was pure vibration. This new kind of contact with Maura opened floodgates that Jane hadn't even known existed. The feeling gathered in her stomach, manifesting in the purest and strongest desire Jane had ever known. It was beyond anything she had ever experienced before, far beyond mere arousal, and far beyond that moment in time.

Yes, this had been a long time coming.

When the kiss ended for lack of air, Jane felt bereft. She kept her eyes closed, trying desperately to savor the moment, hands cupping Maura's head close against hers as if the doctor might run or be taken away if she let go. Her heavy breaths mingled with the doctor's and that only increased her utter inebriation. This memory was something she would never let go, not that she could if she tried. The electricity still buzzed through her nerves and she clung to it. When her eyes finally opened, they quickly sought Maura's reaction.

Maura looked fearful for her life, wide eyes on Jane, tears slipping over the smooth curves of her skin.

_Fuck._ Jane was suddenly horrified. She screwed up. Maybe Maura didn't want that. Maybe Maura had had something different in mind. Jane swallowed back the panic. "M-Maura? Did I do something wrong?" The words stumbled out of her mouth.

Maura began to shake her head, slowly at first, then vigorously. "No," she breathed, "no. That… that was…" She shook her head again, her lips barely building a broken smile before it collapsed back into a distressing frown. "You don't understand. I really…" She scrambled for words, the pure ecstasy of the kiss's memory compounding her sudden fear. Her arms were fighting against the mock bonds on her wrist "I-I really can't go—"

She stopped short when the muddled music from the front of the car cut out, along with the engine. Jane sucked in her breath, releasing Maura's head and shoving her arms behind her despite her hip's painful objection. She fought with the last length of twine to wrap it around her wrists convincingly, but it wasn't cooperating.

"—Jane?" Maura whispered urgently.

"Shh," Jane soothed, still struggling with the rope. "Don't resist until we're out of the car," she half whispered, half mouthed. "I'll take him down, don't worry."

"He must be three to four times your weight!"

Jane grinned, hoping her false air of confidence was in some way, shape, or form convincing. "Don't worry, I'll think of something. Remember, he thinks I'm dead." She licked her lips, hesitant. "Maura I… I—"

A car door slammed shut and the trunk popped open. Maura squinted against the sudden intense light. Before she could make any sense of her bearings, Harrison was already dragging her out.

…

As soon as the sounds coming through the phone became muffled, Jane clearly having hidden her phone, Frost hit the mute button and looked anxiously at Korsak. "Shit. _Shit._"

"I know," the older detective said, words clipped.

"Can we do anything now?"

"Not from here."

Frost glanced at the GPS tracker on the big screen in BRIC. "Are the squads going to make it in time? Maybe SWAT will get there first."

"You know how bad traffic is this time of day." He paused, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. "But Jane and Dr. Isles are smart. They should be able to stall him long enough with conversation." He took a forced deep breath. "They're going to make it."

They waited in silence in case Jane or Maura needed anything more from them, listening to the shifting static from the phone call and the undertones of the car engine, every so often catching the faded music from the front of Harrison's car. The minutes dragged out.

Then, all noise cut out. A click, shifting, a loud dragging sound, and _slam_.

Korsak and Frost stared at each other, eyes wide. Frost licked his lips nervously. "Do you want to—"

"Let's go. I'll drive."

…

Harrison placed Maura gently on a sidewalk in a nice suburban neighborhood, green trees and colorful homes slowly coming into focus. In a matter of moments, he had Jane slung over his shoulder so that her head was lolling against his back. He slammed the trunk closed with his free hand, supporting Jane's weight with just one arm hooked around her waist, before he directed his gun at Maura's head once again.

Maura remembered Korsak's last words of advice. _Just stall._ "What… what are we doing here?" she asked Harrison.

"I'm going to make things right," he answered curtly.

"How are you going to do that?" Maura pressed.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No one can live without purpose. I'll fix you. I'll fix Amy. I'll fix myself. Come on." He gestured for her to get up with his gun.

"N-no," Maura stuttered. "I won't. Not until I understand you."

Maura wasn't really a certified behaviorist. But she knew a thing or two about body language. Harrison was done trying to be understood. She sprang to her feet, the ankle and wrist bindings falling away, and ran. Harrison fired. The bullet missed, shattering the rear window of a parked SUV to her right. Startled by the noise, she tripped forward, crashing into the sidewalk. She pushed herself onto her back, clinging to the SUV's rear tire for support, heaving as Harrison approached quickly without Jane to impede him, gun extended. Harrison was nearly on top of her. Time seemed to slow down as he took aim.

_Is this it?_ Maura wondered.

Suddenly, Jane's hands appeared on either side of Harrison's neck, a length of twine extended between them. She wrapped it around once, swiftly, and yanked with all her might. _Yes!_ Maura thought. _She can't beat him in a battle of strength, but she can subdue him like this!_ Harrison thrashed around, gun swinging from a finger, trying everything to dislodge the lanky brunette's grip on the choking twine. But Jane held fast. He hurled himself onto the car with the broken rear window, sandwiching Jane between himself and the broken glass. She cried out, but somehow still held on. Maura could see that Jane was tiring him, depriving him of oxygen… but not fast enough. With one last-ditch effort, Harrison fell backwards, crushing Jane as they both hit the asphalt.

"_Jane!_"

Jane's hands involuntarily released the twine on impact. Harrison rolled off her and scrambled to his feet, regaining a proper grip on the gun in his hand. Gasping wildly, he leaned over Jane. "I didn't _MEAN_ to!" he shouted. He pressed the gun into Jane's bloodied and battered head.

Maura didn't have time to scream before the gunshot echoed through the neighborhood.

…

_Continued in chapter 7, Both Sides, Now_


	7. Both Sides, Now

Hi all. I am so-so-so sorry for the delay. Believe me it was _not_ my intention to take this long to post, especially after such an obnoxious cliffhanger. Needless to say, life got in the way. I hope you can forgive me.

The support I'm receiving is overwhelming, and words cannot describe how much I appreciate it. Er, maybe they can, since the story was supposed to end here on chapter 7 and I figured you guys deserved an 8… possibly a 9, but no promises. There's only so much more that I feel needs to be said, but definitely let me know if you think there's something I haven't addressed. Also, has anyone figured out exactly how and why Trisha died?

Again, I am truly sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

…

Chapter 7: Both Sides, Now

…

For seemingly the umpteenth time in 24 hours, Maura's world shattered. Jane was dead. Jane was _dead._

Harrison stood squarely over her unmoving form, barrel of a chest heaving as he gulped in mouthfuls of air, the .45 shaking in his hand.

Maura's hand flew to her mouth, doing little to muffle her heart-wrenching wail. _She must be dead._ There was no way he could have missed with the gun flush against her head. She was really gone. The code of logic in Maura's head seemed to snap. With Jane dead, nothing made sense anymore. This was her only coherent thought for a few moments as she took in the world around her without really seeing anything at all. Her thoughts were on a loop. What use was logic if it clearly didn't apply? Because nothing about this was logical. Everything made sense, but then, nothing made sense at all.

Then Maura quickly felt something else take her over: an unearthly rage. A meek voice somewhere in her head warned her that it wasn't right, what she was feeling, but the rage, fueled by her intense grief, consumed her. Maura had never been so livid in her life. Hands curled into quivering white balls as her eyes locked on the back of Harrison's hairless head.

She would take his gun. She would press it into his head. She would pull the trigger. She would kill him. Then she would probably end her own life, because she couldn't live with this. _Not this way. Not now._

Given this train of thought, it further derailed her emotions and confused her immensely when Harrison swayed, stumbled backwards towards Maura, then collapsed loudly against the bumper of the damaged old SUV. Maura's brain hiccupped as she struggled to understand, to comprehend what was going on.

"D-Dr. Isles?"

It took several seconds for the voice to permeate the fog in Maura's brain. When it did, her head snapped wildly towards the source of the sound. Her wide eyes took in a young woman… blonde, tall… familiar, but Maura was shell-shocked and she couldn't summon the girl's name from the depths of her memory. She continued to stare, mind blank, and realized after a few moments that the girl had been talking to her. "…never shot s-someone before. I, uh, I heard the gun go off outside and I r-ran and grabbed the one in my dad's study and came outside…" The girl seemed a little shell-shocked herself—_dilated pupils, hyperactive respiration, tensed masseters along the jaw and bulging sternocleidomastoids along the neck, not to mention the enlarged superficial temporal vein._ These comments rattled off in the back of Maura's head as if they were faded remnants from another place and time. They were immediately forgotten, just like half the words the young blonde appeared to be saying. Now, Maura realized, the girl had stopped talking and was staring intently at Maura with a chattering jaw, clearly waiting for some kind of acknowledgement. When Maura's empty expression remained unchanged, she spoke again. "Are… are you, like… okay?"

Maura blinked dumbly a few times at the girl's face, opening her mouth but producing no words. It was as if her brain was fumbling with a child's toy, continually trying to force a square block through a circular hole. Maura's bleary eyes wandered downward with no real motive and saw that the girl was holding a small pistol with both hands, visibly quivering.

The girl followed her gaze. "Oh, um, uh, it's my dad's. He's—" she swallowed, "—an army vet." She stared back at Maura's blank face, fidgeting, clearly nervous. Then she glanced away, taking in Harrison's still form, eyes finally landing on Jane. "Is that…? Detective Rizzoli… is she…?"

Those words snapped Maura out of her stupor, the impulse to move stinging her nerves like the crack of a whip. She half stood, half dragged herself up the side of the SUV and tumbled recklessly towards Jane, nearly tripping over Harrison before crashing into the pavement beside her. A ring of gunpowder residue just off-center on her forehead marked the spot where Harrison had pressed his weapon. But there was no bullet hole.

_No bullet hole… No bullet hole!_ As Maura's eyes tore over Jane, checking for life-threatening injuries, wounds that might be bleeding out, bones that might be broken, her fingers found a steady pulse that rocked her with so much relief, it physically hurt.

"Is… is she okay?"

Maura took a few shuddering breaths, patting Jane's cheek in a weak attempt to wake her, before ripping her gaze away to reevaluate their rescuer. "Amy," she breathed. She turned back to Jane, patting a little harder now to rouse her. She was concussed, could be _re-_concussed, and shouldn't be sleeping just yet. "Yes, yes she's… she's okay. She's alive." _She's alive. She's okay. Breathe, Maura, breathe._

"I-I'm glad." Amy stood awkwardly, the gun still clasped in both hands.

Maura lifted Jane's eyelids and checked for proper photosensitivity, her mind slowly restarting, reconfiguring, sloppily pasting itself back together. "I cannot thank you enough," she said distractedly, sparing Amy a quick, tearful smile that she hoped conveyed her immeasurable gratitude.

"Oh. Sure." Amy took a deep breath. "Am I… in trouble?"

Jane groaned, a good sign, and Maura felt that it was safe to distribute more attention to the girl who saved their lives. Guilt caught up with her for not having done so already. She had to replay Amy's question in her head before she could answer it. "No, no, you shouldn't be. You acted out of necessity. Boston law states that one who commits a harm that was necessary to prevent some greater harm should not be held liable for their actions—Justifiable homicide." She stroked Jane's hair. "You have nothing to worry about."

Amy forced a smile. "That's what you said when you took a swab of my DNA after Trisha… I mean, you were right, though." Her shoulders seemed to relax a little. "They never came after me as a suspect.

Maura glanced at her, contemplating as she took in the young woman's appearance. She was much thinner now than she had been in the interrogation room. Her eyes were bloodshot, the off color of her skin representing malnutrition. The life seemed to have drained out of her. _This girl is barely holding on._ The faded sound of sirens in the distance interrupted her silent evaluation, and the doctor let out a huge breath, turning back to the detective. She gently brushed her cheek. "Hear that, Jane? They're finally here."

"…Jesus." Jane let out a tired, semi-conscious moan. "Took 'em… long enough."

Maura grinned. The faint wails gradually became more distinct. Maura turned to Amy, suddenly remembering her weapon. "You might want to put your gun down," she said seriously. "If the officers arrive and see that you're carrying a weapon, they will be more likely to consider you hostile."

"Oh… right."

Amy seemed to struggle as she pried the gun out of her own hand, moving to place it on the sidewalk. Maura watched her until she felt Jane's hand grapple at her blouse. She quickly clasped the detective's hand in her own, holding it against her chest. "We made it, Jane," she whispered. "We made it."

What happened next went too fast and too slow for Maura to comprehend. She caught odd movement out of the corner of her eye, and too late she saw Harrison rise to his feet, the spot of dark red coloring his shoulder spreading as the muscles beneath it flexed. Amy heard the noise and turned. Maura wished she hadn't. Maura wished she had just stayed looking away, that she hadn't seen it coming.

But instead Amy's gaze was locked with Harrison's when he shot her. The bullet smacked into her chest, ripping a hole right through her.

There was no time to cry out, no time to mourn or think or react. Harrison's gun was on Maura, his thick arm coiled around her neck, lifting her off the ground and squeezing. Air. Maura needed air. She felt the cool metal press into her cheek as she scratched weakly at his arm.

"How do I fix this?" he whispered. Maura couldn't suppress her whimper. "How do I bring her back?"

He loosened his grip, allowing her enough air to speak. "You… can't," she said hoarsely, her cheek grinding harshly against his gun as she spoke. "Your wife… she is never coming back. Neither is Trisha. Or…" She painfully swallowed back a sob. "…Or probably Amy."

Harrison's body shook against hers as he let out an anguished wail. It ran its course, burning into Maura's ears, burning into her mind, and even as it echoed there Harrison moved on, throwing Maura against the old SUV. Her back smacked against the bumper and she let out a cry, sinking to the ground.

"How do I go on?" he demanded, leering over her dangerously.

Maura hunched forward, coughing as her hands found balance in the shards of broken glass that littered the asphalt.

"Tell me _how!_"

It hurt Maura to crane her neck back as she looked up into Harrison's crazed eyes. There was so much pain, so much fear hidden there. So much the broken man just could not face.

"Please. _Please! Tell me_. How do I survive this? How can I find happiness again?"

Maura licked her lips. Could she fabricate something, save her life? Would he would believe her if she did? He might trust her words. Or should she tell the truth and risk death? It seemed obvious that he expected some kind of concrete answer out of her.

But there was never really a choice for the doctor. She settled for the simple truth. Because… because he needed to hear it. "I don't know," she said quietly. "No one does. You're the only one who… can answer that. You're… the only one who can find out… if it's possible."

The change in his eyes was unmistakable. Psychotic break. Maybe a schizophrenic episode. Maura saw it happen, like a physical snap. He didn't say anything, but then he didn't need to. The new message on his face was brutally clear. Useless. Maura was useless to him.

In that moment, Maura completely understood him. _Can't you see I've been trying to answer that for years?_ his expression said. Yes. There was a new coolness in his actions, and a new diagnosis came to Maura unbidden. Dissociative identity disorder—he had a split personality. The anger spread, and there was his gun, poised for the killing. Maura's eyes crossed when she glanced briefly into the dark barrel.

Eliminate that which is useless to make room for that which is not. That's what this side of Harrison's personality wanted to do. Maura was unhelpful and in his way. Harrison was angry. It was an easy decision to kill two birds with one stone. Maura saw the logic in his thoughts, even as it was illogically applied.

Behind him, down the street, she saw the first police cruiser finally tear onto the quiet suburban road. But they wouldn't make it in time. Maura closed her eyes. This was surely the end. _Now… everything ends now, when Jane and I only just—_

She didn't even have time for regrets. Harrison pulled the trigger, and Maura felt it. The blunt force that shredded through skin, tissue, and bone, leaving in its wake a split second of numb respite before plunging her world into agony, before every nerve around the newly-formed cavity lit with a scorching, pulsing pain.

For a moment, every thought process in Maura's head froze. There was nothing, nothing, then a thought that exploded into her mind: _It hurts! _She moaned in her head. …Wait._ It hurts?_

Maura wrenched open her eyes, unseeing and gasping at the pain, but beyond shocked to find that she was still in fact alive. His gun was set for her head. Why would he…? And then as she pressed a trembling hand on instinct into the pain radiating from her shoulder, her brain labored to reestablish some kind of connection with her vision, to make sense of the world around her.

The first thing that came into focus as the blood slowly trickled through her fingers was a cruiser screeching to a halt beside Harrison's car, two officers throwing the doors open with hands on their holsters. Then she heard footsteps on the other side of the SUV. Another officer appeared, gun drawn and directed at Harrison. This officer approached the fallen man slowly, prying the .45 out of the murderer's large hand and sliding it towards the other officers before checking for a pulse.

Recognition hit Maura as she rapidly blinked away a film of tears. "…Frankie?"

Jane's brother turned around, noticing Maura for the first time. "Maura! You alright?"

Maura nodded belatedly, paralyzed, still trying desperately to make sense of the situation through the disorienting pain in her left shoulder. She didn't understand.

Frankie grabbed at his radio. "Officer Rizzoli to dispatch, scene on Powell Street is secure. We got an officer down, two wounded, one possible DOA—send in a bus _now_."

Maura could hear the muffled response from dispatch that Frankie ignored as he approached Maura, his eyes honing in on her now profusely bloody hand. "You got shot?" he asked fearfully. He didn't wait for a response before he added, "Can you wait for the EMTs?"

Maura only nodded. The other two officers passed behind him with a wary glance in Maura's direction, presumably on their way to examine Amy, but Maura didn't dare look. She couldn't handle that. Process. She needed to process, but there was so much information missing. "Jane," she said weakly, finding the detective's body a lot closer than it had been before Maura was shot.

Frankie was already beside his sister, leaning over her and swatting lightly at her cheek. "Hey, hey Janie, talk to me."

Yes, Jane's body was definitely in a different place. She was much closer to the sidewalk. And now she was face down. When had that happened? _What happened when he shot me? What did Jane have to do with it?_

Frankie continued his gentle patting as one more cruiser and a SWAT van pulled onto the suburban street, sirens blaring, deafening the doctor as she strained to hear any signs of life from Jane. Maura clumsily leaned forward onto her knees, one hand pressed loosely against her wound while the other found the SUV's bumper and used it to shakily climb to her feet. She was assaulted by a sudden dizziness, but she held her ground with inexplicable purpose. She needed to get to Jane. Check her vitals. Jane needed to be alive. After all this, Jane needed to be alive.

She only managed two steps before Frankie intercepted her as more squad cars and an ambulance arrived at the scene. Already the cops were busy, setting up tape, surveying the scene, making calls and communicating over their radios. "What's wrong… with all of you? Help Jane!" Maura hissed angrily, though only Frankie could hear her. What were they doing? What about Jane? Why weren't they all helping Jane?

"Hey-hey-hey," Frankie chided as she tried to evade him. He grabbed her good shoulder gently and directed her towards the ambulance. "We gotta get you looked at."

"But Jane…" Maura's head was swimming, her bleary eyes glued on the brunette as two paramedics finally moved in to check on her.

"She's fine. She was swearing at me under her breath just now when I was poking at her wounds." Frankie gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry." He gently grasped her arm, tugging her towards the ambulance. Maura watched Jane over her shoulder, too exhausted to resist no matter how much she wanted to. Frankie's words only barely reassured her. She needed to see to believe. She needed to hear Jane's breathing and see her bright eyes staring back at her. She needed to see that cocky grin on her face, the one that said, _Didn't I tell you everything would be fine?_

Maura's vision went fuzzy as they neared the ambulance, Frankie's grip tightening on her arm. She remembered sitting on the bus's bumper. She remembered Frankie hollering for a paramedic and checking her over for damage beyond the bullet wound. But after that, she couldn't remember a thing. All she knew is that she was still trying and failing to process her mess of a life when she finally passed out.

…

Korsak and Frost were plowing through traffic in the wake of a speeding ambulance. Frost had spent most of the ride impatiently monitoring the radio chatter. At first there had been little to no remarks regarding the situation, just brief updates on the locations of the approaching squads before all dialogue about it ceased. For five minutes of unbearable silence, only unimportant calls came in. One cop had mentioned she was heading in to address a domestic disturbance. Another had arrested a drunken man in a park and was returning to his station. The squads heading to Jane and Maura's location were unnervingly silent.

"I don't like this," Frost voiced the obvious. "Haven't they secured things yet?"

"Don't know." Korsak tried to concentrate on weaving through traffic and keeping up with the bus in front of them without getting into some kind of awful accident. He had already radioed in to dispatch and confirmed that the ambulance they were following was the third to be rerouted to Powell Street from Mass General. _How many goddamn buses are they gonna need?_

The radio crackled as the officer who had headed in to break up a domestic disturbance called in to report, provoking an annoyed grumble out of Frost. "Well what the hell is taking so long? The squads should be there by now. For all we know, Dr. Isles and Jane could be—"

"Frost," Korsak snapped. "You better shut the hell up. I don't want to hear the end of that sentence."

Frost turned his head to look at Korsak, a nervous frown on his face, before he palmed the dash angrily. He felt useless. Korsak couldn't blame him, but assuming the worst would help no one.

Then as if incited by Frost's irritation, Frankie's voice, full of tension and coming through too loud, too clear, called in.

"_Officer Rizzoli to dispatch, scene on Powell Street is secure. We got an officer down, two wounded, one possible DOA—send in a—"_

"—SHIT." Korsak smashed his fist into the steering wheel. "What the _fuck_ happened?"

"Who's the DOA?" Frost asked tightly, knowing he wouldn't get a real answer until they got to the scene.

"Not Rizzoli," Korsak huffed.

Frost glanced at him. "How do you know?"

"Because Frankie was too together for it to be her. The officer down is probably Rizzoli."

Frost rubbed his eyes restlessly. _Down. How down is 'down?'_

For a while the two listened silently to the discordant wails of the ambulance in front of them and their own siren, scattering the grumpy afternoon traffic as they painstakingly made their way towards whatever horrible scene awaited them.

It was over, whatever 'it' was, that must Korsak knew. Harrison was no longer a threat. Whether he had been detained, or shot and killed, people—Rizzoli and Dr. Isles—were safe from him. But how much damage had he managed to cause?

Time trickled by as the radio began to explode with useless chatter, and soon they were five minutes out. Korsak's grip on the steering wheel tightened considerably when he saw another ambulance streak by them heading back the way they came towards Mass General, or perhaps a closer ER if there was less time to spare. Who was on that bus?

Finally they turned onto Powell Street. The place was already crawling with four squad cars, two SWAT vans, and another ambulance. Korsak parked haphazardly by the curb, swearing under his breath. Frost was already out the door before Korsak had thrown the car into park.

Korsak launched himself out of the car and followed Frost, stopping short as a paramedic and three officers blocked their path. They were barely able to lift some guy who might as well have been the Hulk. _That's Harrison? Holy crap._ Korsak could only stare. His massive frame dwarfed the stretcher. _Rizzoli and Dr. Isles had to take him down without a gun?_ He shook his head, glancing at Frost who had a similarly bewildered expression on his face, and continued past them to take in the scene. It was a mess. There was Harrison's car, exactly as Jane had described it. Bloodstains darkened the sidewalk and asphalt here and there, two noticeably large patches that indicated heavy blood loss. Shattered glass from an SUV's rear window had been kicked around during some kind of scuffle and the whole thing looked like some kind of manic art project.

Korsak pulled his eyes away and saw another set of paramedics loading an unconscious and very pale Jane onto a bus. Frost was already on his way over, but Frankie called out from the other side of the scene and motioned for Frost to wait as he approached.

"She's okay," he said as soon as he didn't have to shout it.

Frost released a deep breath, hands on his hips and staring down at the ground as he attempted to reclaim his nerves. The bus bearing Jane pulled out of the street and made room for the third ambulance. It took an additional paramedic to lift the enormous man inside. Two officers climbed in after him before the bus took off.

Korsak watched it drive down the street for a moment before turning back to Frankie. "And Dr. Isles?"

Frankie glanced back and forth between them, his expression serious. "She's… I think she's fine. I couldn't get a clear look at the bullet wound—"

Korsak tensed. "_Bullet_ wound?"

Frankie held up his hands to forestall further questions. "It was in her shoulder. There was lots of blood, but she was up and walking around, and I thought she was fine. Then she passed out and the EMTs were all over her before I could get a better look at the wound. They took her straight to Mass with the first victim who was _way_ worse off than Maura."

"First victim?" Frost asked, beyond curious about the mysterious fourth person involved in this incident.

Frankie pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and flipped through it. "Amy Welsh, 18."

Frost and Korsak looked at each other. "The girlfriend?" Frost said.

"I don't know the details of what happened before I arrived. Maura went out like a light before I could ask her anything. And the only thing she cared about before she fainted was getting to Jane."

"Typical," Korsak muttered. He glanced at Frost for a quick moment, remembering their conversation from earlier that day. "What about Jane?"

"Jane wasn't in good enough shape to do much beyond swear at me before she blacked out too." Frankie shrugged.

Frost couldn't help the tight grin pulling at his lips. "Well _that's_ a good sign."

Korsak crossed his arms. "What happened when you _did_ get here?"

"I pulled onto the street from the north—" Frankie turned and gestured down the street. "—and saw the car that the dispatcher had described, parked right where it is. I stopped back there and approached on foot so I could see them before they saw me." He pointed towards the SUV. "When I got close, I saw Harrison standing right between that car and his, holding up his gun. He was saying something, to Jane I figured out later, and then he raised his arm, like this—" He demonstrated how Harrison took aim, grasping an invisible gun. "—and I didn't want to chance anything, got him in the middle of his back before he could fire one off."

Frost slapped him on the shoulder. "Good job, Frankie."

Jane's brother just nodded. "I'm just glad I got here in time. He was about to take out Jane."

He didn't sound proud; rather, he looked grim, his expression serious and all business. Korsak made a mental note to commend the young officer on how far he'd come, and how much closer he was getting to making detective. You knew a real rookie when they were proud about this sort of thing, looking for approval. Good guy or bad guy, playing with life and death was never something anyone should get cocky about.

"Any idea what happened before you got here?" Frost asked.

"Only Maura and Jane would know." Frankie paused, scrunching his eyebrows in thought. "Although…" He turned and scanned the various shades of law enforcement tramping about, collecting evidence, questioning the small crowd of neighbors that had slowly gathered, or guarding the perimeter. Frankie spotted the officer he was looking for. "Hey, Officer Murphy." He waved one of the younger officers in the area over.

"Yeah, Rizzoli?" he addressed Frankie as he strode over.

"You pulled onto the street with Kelly, right?"

"Yep. Kelly went with the perp to the hospital." He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "Why?"

"We're trying to piece events together," Korsak said, gaining his attention. "You saw things from a different angle when you turned onto the street."

"Oh yeah, saw the whole thing." Murphy turned around and started gesturing at the scene. "The Doc was on the ground there, against the SUV. And Harrison was standing right there, lifting his gun, aiming to shoot her. Then Rizzoli…" He pointed further away from the SUV, shaking his head. "I didn't notice her until she was already moving. But she's up and she snags Harrison's arm just as me n' Kelly hear him fire. And then he grabs her—" Murphy reached behind his neck and yanked at the collar of his shirt to illustrate. "And he just throws her down on the sidewalk like she's nothing. And then he's saying something to her and making to shoot her, and we hear another shot just as we pull in—that was you, Frankie."

"Damn," Frost muttered.

"That bullet was meant for Dr. Isles' head," Korsak said.

"Damn fine cop, that Rizzoli," Murphy muttered, slapping Frankie on the back with a congenial smirk.

Frankie raised an eyebrow suggestively at his fellow officer. "Why, you interested?"

Murphy looked surprised for a moment, maybe a little timid, then smiled. "Sure, why not?"

Frost crossed his arms, grinning. "Sorry pal, I think Detective Rizzoli might already be spoken for."

Murphy threw up his hands dramatically, scowling at Frankie. "Way to get my hopes up, you dick."

Frankie just shrugged, and Murphy waved them off as he traipsed back towards the gathering of neighbors and passerby.

Frost turned to Korsak. "I think they've got things handled here. We should go to the hospital. Frankie?"

"I'll meet you guys there. Gotta finish up here and take down some more statements." He paused, frowning deeply. "Look, I'm pretty sure Janie's fine. But Maura… could you…?"

"We'll let you know how she's doing as soon as we hear," Korsak assured him.

Frankie looked like he wanted to say more, so Korsak waited patiently. Finally, after a glance at Frost, the young cop said, "Think she's spoken for, huh?" Frost and Korsak glanced at each other, and when neither of them offered any kind of explanation, Frankie smiled. "I think she is, too." He shook his head. "I never thought… but what do I know?"

"That why you're extra worried about Dr. Isles?" Korsak asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "She's family," was all he could say.

…

Jane let out an abrasive laugh when she saw that Hoyt's chair was empty. It was all too familiar, this second concrete home, but now it was quiet. Jane was for the most part ache-free this time around, free to move about the room without hindrance. But there was nothing in here of value. Without Hoyt's little snide comments and provocations, she could only wonder what the point of this was. She circled the room casually a few times, hands in her pockets, inspecting the walls for meaningful details. Eventually she wandered over to Hoyt's chair, warily examining it, prepared to leap back if he decided to drop in for a visit. But for whatever reason her subconscious spared her a conversation with the crazed part of the villain that still existed inside of her.

Rather than sit in Hoyt's chair, she crossed the room and slid down the wall next to the wooden door, drawing her knees up and resting her arms on them.

Jane wasn't stupid; she knew a metaphor when she saw one. This whole hallway business, these rooms that contained some vague, some very pointed things. Some abstract. Some vivid memories. Some what-ifs—Maura's favorite.

It was just one big-ass allegory for things in life she was unwilling to face, right? And a message, maybe. Something like, there was only so far she could run before she brought ruin onto herself. Her laugh bounced around the concrete room.

It seemed so simple to discuss the conceptual. Immersing herself in the details of the situation was far more difficult and frightening than hashing out a half-assed summary and calling it a day.

The concrete room eventually faded from her vision as she thought. She heard voices like whispers, tickling her ears, maybe calling out to her, but she felt no reason to bother with them. This darkness… this was facing the problem head on. This was freezing everything else and staring at a blank piece of paper with a pencil and eraser and setting out to draw a full picture, a clear picture, one that spelled out exactly how to navigate the waters of her indecision.

She paused. _Indecision… what the hell am I undecided about?_ She opened her eyes, back in the concrete room, against the featureless wall by the door. _A risk?_ Hoyt's chair was still vacant, but Jane caught something out of the corner of her eye, taking in the hulking form of Harrison. Even as she met his piercing gaze, the scene came back to her, a transparent vision over everything in her concrete world. _What am I even risking?_ Harrison's broad back, so tall he made Maura look like a little girl. Maura, gasping for air, bloody hands keeping her upright as she stared into those same piercing eyes, as she faced a crossroads. _Do I keep lying or tell the truth?_ What was Maura thinking? Agony, there was a lot of that, but Jane's body had been on autopilot when she rolled onto her stomach, when she reached out for Harrison's arm, knowing without looking, knowing without guessing, that Maura wasn't about to start lying for her own sake. _Who wins?_ Maura would present the truth, nothing but. _I don't even want to win, I just… want the world to make room for this._ Because Harrison had been lied to enough in his life by his delusion, by his false hopes, by doctors and a society that tried to map things out for him, and even the most well thought-out lies could never erase the shadows cast by the massive truths of life and death._ I think I might also need to make room for this…_

And even as the thunderclap of the round going off was still bouncing around the suburban neighborhood, Harrison's hand was already gripping the back of Jane's mussed shirt, and then Jane was spinning and grinding against the asphalt._ What is he saying?_ She saw Harrison's lips moving, but heard nothing. She was just straining her eyes to stay focused on his as darkness encroached on her vision. Had she been looking at him defiantly when he raised the gun? The eerie illusion dissipated like a cloud lifting, but she was still staring into those eyes across the concrete room. His brow was furrowed, his cheeks covered with fresh tears.

Jane rose slowly off the floor, her gaze never leaving his. "What did you say?" she whispered.

He obligingly mouthed those last words and Jane followed his lips, trying to read them, trying to hear the sound they must have produced. But she shook her head. She could not. New voices whispered in her ears. These were more annoying than the others had been. These insisted she step out of this place, this second home, maybe for good.

"I wonder if your hellhole makes as little sense as mine," Jane murmured to Harrison. She fumbled behind her for the doorknob without looking away from the tall, heartbroken man, giving the knob a firm twist when she finally found it.

For once, she was satisfied to go blindly as she stepped backwards through the door.

…

_Continued in chapter 8, Making Room_


	8. Making Room

Hey all. I know the wait on this one has been ridiculous, and I'm very sorry! I injured myself running last week and, as I have a desktop computer, it was actually physically painful to sit at my desk and type! Hopefully this SUPER long chapter will make up for the wait! It's sorta two chapters crammed into one so feel free to take a breather. And I think we've only got one more chapter after this.

I suppose, now that we're so near the end, it's is a good time to announce that I'll be writing another Rizzles story after this one, an AU story titled _Me and Mrs. Jones_. Take what inferences you will from the title, wink-wink. Dr. Small, introduced in this chapter, is a character I plan to use in _Me and Mrs. Jones_, but I threw her in here because Jane needs a crazy doctor, don't you think? And I wanted to test out her character. Let me know what you think of her. She's going to be quite the shipper in the next story.

Feedback is always lovely! Drop me a line and let me know what you're thinking. Also, brownie points to anyone who can get the name of the show Dr. Small keeps referencing. And double super extra brownie points to anyone who can catch the rather obscure movie character reference near and at the end of this chapter.

…

Chapter 8: Making Room

…

Maura frowned into her lap where her fists lay clenched. "No." The one word, though uttered softly, was unyielding.

Frost and Korsak exchanged a look. "Doc," Korsak ventured, "I don't understand why you won't—"

"You leave her alone, Detectives!" Angela ordered, half sitting, half leaning on the edge of Maura's hospital bed and gingerly wrapping a motherly arm around the doctor's hunched back. "She's been through the ringer today and if you two had any decency, you would let her be!"

"Look, we just need to confirm a few things, fill in a couple missing details," Frost offered neutrally.

"I've already told you what I can," Maura murmured tiredly.

"Actually," Frost said slowly, as if Maura might hear their argument if he dragged his words out, "you've told us a general play-by-play. But there's a lot more you can tell us. We need to know everything that happened, what Harrison said in the morgue, what Jane said to him when he had you, what else happened in the parking garage, or what happened after he threw you into the trunk. If we don't get the full story worked out in your statement, there are going to be problems down the line from Harrison's attorney, if he lives… maybe Amy's attorney, whether she lives through this or not… even IAB…"

Frost continued to argue his point, which was a sound one, but it faded from Maura's attention quickly as she sank into her thoughts. Maura _had_ omitted quite a bit from her description of the incident. Like the look of terror in Jane's eyes when she first turned and found Harrison's arm snaked around Maura's neck. It had taken Jane only a moment, only a few blinks, to mask that terror with her trained cop façade. But that moment was long enough for Maura to catch it and decipher it. It wasn't just general terror, but unbridled terror _for_ Maura. No concern for herself.

_I'll come with you. If I do, will you please leave my friend here?_

Then there was the relentless sorrow saturating the air around Harrison, so disarming that Maura had to vehemently fight her sympathy, fight her own twisted understanding of his actions in order to stay levelheaded, in order to stay sane enough to make it through the nightmare.

_Redeem yourself from what?_

_Hitting the brakes._

Maura could almost see the horrific accident in her mind's eye. If hitting the breaks _caused_ Harrison's car crash two years ago, there was in all probability a small body of water on the road… _Hydroplaning,_ Maura thought, defining the word for herself as a form of small comfort: _A vehicle is said to hydroplane when one or all wheels are separated from the road surface by a layer of water that renders the tires unable to find traction, thus reducing the controllability of the vehicle._ Maura could almost see Harrison and his wife, driving along at night. And that's when he hit the large pooling of water, perhaps left by recent rainfall or a nearby flooding stream, hidden by a dip in the road. It was just instinct that told Harrison to hit the brakes when he felt the car begin to drift. But as soon as he did, the wheels stopped spinning. And the car, gliding along the surface of the puddle, continued moving. Maybe their car slid right off the road and curled around a tree, or strayed into the other lane and collided head-on with another vehicle. Maybe the tires found dry road surface again, and the sudden traction flipped the car. They both survived, Harrison and his wife. But that was probably the day Harrison's wife lost her will to live. Unable to walk normally, perhaps unable to walk at all, she probably couldn't handle the bleak future life had handed her.

Maura yanked herself out of the fabricated memory she had created for Harrison. Korsak and Frost didn't need to know about the few moments her empathy had swallowed her, the few moments she had wanted to give in. She had, after all, recovered from each of those weak moments. Harrison's lot in life was unfair, but that didn't change the utter wrongness of what he was attempting to do. This notion had helped Maura recover a couple times, but the grief that blanketed Harrison's presence and provided him with overt purpose had been pierced by another detail Maura was unable to share with Korsak and Frost.

It was the way Jane looked as though she were constantly and only barely curbing the urge to rush at Maura, to put herself in between the doctor and the massive, crazed man. It was something beyond her protective nature… it was as if some force of gravity were pulling her there, pulling her to any point in space that would separate Maura from the danger. But Jane had to resist it, had to keep holding herself back because that cool cylinder of metal cocked to Maura's head was like a floor of broken glass and knives awaiting Jane's fall from a cliff. Yet Jane's battle with that odd gravity had given Maura courage when she could summon none using her own devices. That was… private, personal; the two detectives didn't need to know about that. They didn't need to know just how much Maura relied on Jane for strength, or how much Jane had been battling with herself the entire time.

The CPR… they should probably know about that. Omitting that from Maura's retelling left a significant hole in her story. But she knew with near certainty that Jane would pummel her for divulging that bit of information.

…No doubt Korsak and Frost's juvenile minds would pervert the lifesaving procedure into endless jokes to be unleashed as soon as Jane regained consciousness… More ammunition for their plight to hound and tease Jane whenever they could.

They especially didn't need to know about what happened after Jane hid her cell phone and before Harrison opened the trunk. Those were details _never_ meant for sharing. With anyone. That moment was Jane and Maura's, and theirs alone. Maura's eyes slipped closed as she remembered Jane's lips moving against her own, the gentle, soft curiosity that turned quickly into complete and utter necessity. It had been… so completely unprofessional, Maura realized. Right then and there, if her hands had been free, if Jane had been uninjured… Maura felt her cheeks grow warm as her mind gleefully trotted down that path like a hiker excited to try a new trail but turning back upon realizing that _that_ trail would be a little too much of a diversion.

There was no question, though. Jane's lips, Jane's taste, her breath and her skin, the heat radiating off her, the caged animal Maura felt looming there that sent a thrill down to her gut… that kiss had encompassed every sensation Maura had thought it might—and more, so, so much more that she had no words, no adjectives and nouns to assign to the new feelings. So perfect—yet it represented all of her fears, everything she wanted to address but refused to face. Because now nothing could or would be the same. That was a make or break moment. And Maura was sure she had broken it with her reaction, broken it like a priceless vase smashed into far too many pieces to glue back together. Even if one succeeded in reconstructing it, it would never be the same, seamless, perfectly functioning item it used to be.

_We need to confirm intent_, Korsak's words floated to her deep in her mind. _We need to know a little more than just what happened, like what you two were thinking. We need to make sure you didn't provoke him or anything like that…_ Right. For a potential court case. Because somehow a wily lawyer could rip this apart and make it _their_ fault. And then all Maura could see was Amy, swiveling on her heels and coming face to face with Harrison. Her pupils dilating in fear. Her mouth dropping open to inhale. The signal to release adrenaline had already been sent out by her brain, but the chemical was spared no time to spread before Harrison's finger snapped back on the trigger, before the bullet was already plowing through her flesh. Not even a cry, not even a gasp before the young woman crumpled to the ground. Maura shuddered involuntarily at the prospect that this was somehow her doing, that she had somehow incited Amy's disaster, or even Harrison's anger. Korsak and Frost weren't trying to imply that she had a hand in it… but their questions certainly made her feel that way. And the guilt, irrational as it may be, mounted.

Maura released a quaking sigh, absently feeling Angela's grip tightening around her shoulder. More than anything, she wanted this to be over. She wanted to know that Jane was okay, and then… she wanted to move on. Move far away from this, from the last day where so much had gone wrong in her life.

"…Maura, Maura honey."

Maura took in a shallow breath as she registered both the voice and the gentle pat on her good shoulder. She glanced around the room, spotting Korsak and Frost speaking in hushed, frustrated tones by the door before she turned to meet Angela's concerned gaze. "Yes?"

Angela handed some papers to Maura. "The nurse just came by with your discharge papers… you didn't even know she was in the room, did you?"

Maura shook her head, suppressing a wince at the pain it caused in the damaged muscle tissue in her shoulder. "No. I was just… lost in thought."

"Mm." Angela placed the papers in Maura's waiting hands, eyeing the thin dressings around her palms where the ER doctors had patiently removed countless tiny shards of glass. "That Dr. Small who was assessing you seemed nice," she said conversationally, hoping to distract Maura from her thoughts.

Maura absently let a smile ghost her lips. "Yes. Very upbeat."

Angela honed in on it. "It looked like she was having a very deep conversation with you when I arrived," she fished, the ups and downs in her tone betraying her curiosity in the matter.

Maura appeared somewhat flustered. "Yes, she was," she admitted carefully. Predicting more inquiries from the nosy mother—who somehow seemed to sniff out everything Maura did _not_ want to discuss—Maura decided to stem the older woman's curiosity quickly before she asked a question Maura didn't want to answer. "She had seen Amy's condition as she was being admitted to the hospital and knew I was connected to it. She was curious about my involvement. We were just discussing it when you arrived." She paused before blurting, "She's very intuitive." Then, mentally chastising her loose lips and attempting a quick recovery that wouldn't make her break out into hives, she added, "She came to the same conclusion about Harrison's psychosis that I did."

Angela pursed her lips, noting the curious blush washing up the visible parts of Maura's chest and neck. Whatever Dr. Small had been intuitive about, it certainly was _not_ just Harrison's psychological condition.

Despite her interest, Angela found herself letting it slide and changed course slightly. "For what it's worth," she murmured, "I understand why you don't want to tell Detective Frost or Detective Korsak about it. What happened today, I mean."

Maura looked up at Jane's mother curiously. "You do?"

"Of course," Angela affirmed with a grin. "You learn a thing or two about stuff like this when Jane is your daughter." She rested a hand on Maura's blanketed leg fondly. "That daughter of mine has made it painfully clear that there are just some things you can't talk about to certain people. She's never once held up a conversation with me about that disgusting, God-awful Hoyt." She spat the name. "And I thought maybe she was sparing me the trouble. Maybe she thought it would burden me. But then you got involved." Angela reached up and gently smoothed back Maura's ruffled hair, a display of affection that made Maura's heart cram itself into her throat. It was a comfort she had rarely been afforded in life. "And you wouldn't talk to me about it either."

Maura's gaze fell guiltily, recalling Angela's frustration that neither one of her 'daughters,' both her real one and the adopted one, had opened up to her about that last incident with Hoyt. Simple summaries. That was all the fretting mother could ever drag out of them. "Angela, I…"

"No, sweetheart, it's okay. It made me understand. Like I said, some things are just… not meant to be shared with anything or anyone outside of the moment."

Those words hit a snag in Maura's head, unwilling to simply be heard and appreciated. They meant something to Maura, something a little more than what Angela was implying, or maybe it was exactly what Angela was implying, but Maura couldn't put her finger on what it meant. She filed the words away to be considered later, finding Angela's warm eyes and flashing her a small smile. "Thank you for understanding."

"You're welcome." She stood up and rubbed her hands together. "Now let's get you out of that hospital gown and into the clothes I brought for you. They should let us see Janie soon and I know she's going to want you there when they finally leave her alone."

_She's going to want me there? _Maura wasn't so sure. She let Angela help her out of the hospital bed, her throbbing shoulder and aching heart constant reminders of how nothing would be the same.

…

"Ms. Rizzoli."

Those words, erupting into the blissful silence that had been blanketing Jane's unconscious mind, managed to severely intensify the dull ache that had here and there been intruding on her slumber.

_Ugh. Go. The fuck. Away._

"Ms. Rizzoli. Can you hear me?"

…_Yes, God. That's the problem._ Jane groaned—a mistake, maybe, because it only encouraged the bothersome _whoever _it was that had a cold hand tapping at her shoulder.

"I think she's coming to," a more distant voice said.

"Time to wake up, Ms. Rizzoli," came the closer voice, right by Jane's ear.

_The hell?_ Jane's head throbbed at the dramatically increased volume, a grimace no doubt plastered on her face and visible to these restful-sleep destroyers._ You don't have to shout._

"Can't have you stewing in your concussion all afternoon now when we've got some tests to run, can we?" At least the voice was no longer right next to her ear.

"Should I tell her visitors they can come in, Doctor?" asked the preferable, softer voice in the room.

The chirpy doctor made a dismissive noise. "Not quite yet. Why don't you go tell them she's awake and that there are no signs of skull fractures or worrisome swelling, so the dearies can relax. Just a few tests, and maybe a spoonful of the right medication, and she'll be ready to see them."

"All right."

Soft footsteps followed by the click of a door closing told Jane she was all alone with Mary Poppins, who continued to buzz around her like a persistent fly. Jane licked her very chapped lips, unable to coax her eyes open even as she finally gave up on returning to sleep. But it took extra motivation, particularly the comment about visitors finally registering in her muddled head, to address the waking world and the peppy doctor with whom she'd already lost her patience.

"Mmm…" She found that her throat was uncomfortably dry and she had to swallow a few times before she could produce real words. "Where am I?"

"Ah, there she is!" said the doctor, her obnoxious chipperness painfully clawing at Jane's petulant soul. "You're at Massachusetts General Hospital, hon. Got yourself into a little scuffle, now, didn't you?"

Jane felt her eyebrow twitch. _Little… scuffle?_

"How about you open those big beauties of yours so we can get started on the tests right away and make sure you're hunky-dory?"

"You can… take your tests and _shove_ them up your—_OW!_" Jane gasped when she felt pain pulsate in her abdomen and her eyes finally popped open, staring in shock as the curly, white haired doctor tortuously jabbed at her bruises.

"Mm, good, good. I'm not feeling anything problematic down here. Some heavy bruising but that won't hurt for too long." The doctor's hands traveled a painful trail up over Jane's hospital gown, poking more tentatively at Jane's ribs. "You've got just a couple fractured ribs here." She suddenly pulled her worn, wrinkled hands away and strode smoothly across the room to the wall where two X-ray films had been mounted into a view box. Jane's eyes followed her in a daze. Pointing at part of one film with an air of authority, the doctor said, "This one here is the worst of the two, hon. I'm going to send you home with some painkillers for that and the bruising."

Jane took a moment to check over herself. So many bandages. She lifted a heavy arm and fingered the thick, uncomfortable dressings wrapped around her head. Before she could dwell too far into the ramifications, the doctor swished back to the side of Jane's hospital bed, the brunette still fumbling to apply the doctor's words to her own body as the old woman bent down to stare levelly into Jane's eyes, a sudden gravity clouding over her friendly, pale-blue eyes.

"The only patients I've dealt with worse than law enforcement personnel are other doctors themselves, Detective Rizzoli. That means you're just a hop, skip, and a jump from pure, pristine, unadulterated hell, as far as patients go. I have a good feeling you in particular don't take too well to a doctor's orders." Jane's stunned silence may as well have been a bold declaration of guilt. "That's what I thought. I want you on bed rest for one _entire_ week. That's one-hundred and sixty-eight hours. I'd actually like to put you down for two weeks, but something tells me I'd just be begging you to disobey me if I tried." She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "So, Ms. Rizzoli. I'm being generous. One week, bed rest. Do we have an understanding, dear?"

Jane stared back, swallowing, her usual confident bravado failing her in the face of this utterly derailing, unreadable doctor. She gave one quick, solemn nod. She never would have imagined such an animated, nice old woman could be so damn _scary_.

Satisfied, the doctor drew back, snatching Jane's chart from the end of her hospital bed and jotting a few things down.

This gave Jane a moment to catch up. "Um…" She waited for the doctor to look up. "I, uh… your name?"

"Oh! How silly of me." The older woman smiled, all sunshine and flowers again. "I'm such a goof, I usually don't forget to introduce myself! I'm Dr. Margaret Small." She returned to Jane's side with the chart tucked against her chest and extended her free hand.

Jane took it warily. "So, Dr. Small, when can I…?"

"Skedaddle on out of here?" she supplied with a kind smile. "I want to just run over some basic things, reaction time, reflexes, and so on. Your head took quite a beating in today's incident."

_Incident… Incident._ The word ran on repeat for a few moments before Jane was gripped with heart-stopping panic. She sat bolt upright, wincing at the pain from her countless abrasions, contusions, hematomas—the gang was all there—and grabbed the doctor's coat sleeve urgently. "Maura—Dr. Maura Isles, is she—?

Margaret smiled sympathetically, placing a calming hand over the one clutching her coat. "I was told you might ask. Dr. Isles came in before you and was promptly treated." By the sound of the heart monitor's increasingly hectic beeping and the desperation radiating from the detective's eyes, Dr. Small saw that Jane was not satisfied by this vague answer.

She pursed her lips at the idea of willingly dolling out confidential patient information in a blatant violation of HIPPA regulations, but she could tell that it would be necessary for the wellbeing of her current patient. At the very least, Margaret presumed that no tests could be done until Jane's apprehension was thoroughly allayed. And given what she had already garnered about the nature of their relationship, Jane would be learning these confidential details about her friend—and more—before the day was out, with or without the old doctor's help.

So Dr. Small glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if maybe she was too old for this, and casually broke the law. "A bullet grazed her left shoulder, nicking the axillary artery. There was minor blood loss, but not enough to necessitate a transfusion. The wound was sutured up without any complications and she was briefly hooked up to an IV in order to help return her fluids to normal levels. Other than that, there were minor incised wounds caused by shards of glass and some bruising." The heart monitor quieted some, but Jane's pleading eyes still sought more information. Margaret sighed, giving Jane's hand a gentle squeeze. "Along with Marshall Matt Dillon, and Festus… and half of Dodge… this doctor of yours is currently just down the hall in the waiting room, rather impatient to see you." She raised her brow meaningfully. "And the only thing preventing her from doing so are the few _itty-bitty_ tests I want to perform to ensure that I won't be doing you a disservice by letting you sprint on out of here and back into that endless game of Cops and Robbers."

Jane visibly relaxed, though there was a twinge of anxiety about the 'half of Dodge' that was apparently waiting with Maura. Angela probably knew by now… and this was bound to incite yet another tirade about why Jane should quit her job, move in with her mother, and learn how to cook and raise children. She absently released Dr. Small's jacket. After everything that happened, the last thing she wanted was a patented Mama Rizzoli rant, but it was the first thing she had expected upon waking up. Trying not to be concerned or upset by her mother's absence, she grunted and leaned back into the lumpy hospital pillow to alleviate the discomfort in her upper body as she wryly considered the impending conversation with Angela. Thinking about _that_ worked beautifully to distract her from the other impending conversation. Say, one with a certain honey blonde. _How do we talk about it—what happened in the trunk? Where do we even begin?_

Dr. Small studied Jane's face for a moment, raising a grayed eyebrow in amusement at the changing emotions displayed there. "So," she began, waiting for Jane's eyes to flit towards hers in acknowledgement. "Are you going to let me get to those delightful tests, or are you still hoping that I'll be shoving them into… unique, untoward places?"

Jane smiled sheepishly. "You, uh, heard that, huh?"

"I did," Margaret confessed, feigning seriousness. "I am a little disappointed, Detective."

Jane's timid smile fell into a frown. This doctor would be the one to clear her for active duty. Given Dr. Small's little speech about following her orders and her apparent generosity, it would be easy enough for her to stack up the weeks of desk duty. "I'm sorry, I…"

"You _should_ be sorry. That was pathetic. I've heard far worse in my time, Ms. Rizzoli, far worse. After everything I've been told about you and all the warnings about this gruff, hard-ass detective, I was expecting something that would make my toes curl and my ears burn. If you're ever my patient again, I expect something more original. And heartfelt. And entertaining." She smiled innocently. "This old woman here's gotta have something to gossip about on coffee breaks."

Jane's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had definitely pegged 'this old woman' too soon as a doting Wisconsiny mother-type, the kind of doctor that normally drove Jane insane and only served to impede her recovery. But maybe that was just a cover, a way for Dr. Small to test her tougher patients. Either way, she found herself grinning, in spite of her fatigue, in spite of the ache in her head and the horrible throbbing in her chest. Dr. Small, she could get behind. She acquiesced without further resistance, knowing that these tests were the only thing keeping her from seeing Maura, from visually confirming that this whole nightmare was really over.

…At least, the part of the nightmare that would have killed them. Jane was less certain about the part of the nightmare where their friendship might end for good.

…

As Dr. Small had promised, the tests didn't take long. Jane could follow the doctor's pen, feel the doctor's tickling pokes, count backwards by 7's, hear all the pitches in a sound test, remember small details of their conversation and the day's events, and at the end of it all her reflexes proved normal.

The old doctor definitely had a do-good flare, but Jane noticed that she dulled down her use of flamboyant, happy adjectives and inserted more sarcasm into their conversation, which Jane greatly appreciated.

"Everything checks out," Dr. Small finally concluded, her pen scribbling on Jane's chart. "And you were just a perfect dear through the whole thing!" She grinned when Jane wrinkled her nose humorously. "I've got other patients to check on, hon, but I'm going to get your nurse started on your discharge papers and let your family and friends know they can see you now."

Jane nodded slowly, suddenly nervous that her doctor would be leaving. Dr. Small had been a new, friendly face, someone who didn't know everything about Jane and everything that had just happened with Harrison. And she wouldn't affect Jane's life much outside of the hospital. It had been easy going through test after test, listening to her ramble on about this or that. Now, there were people to talk to, the case to address, Ma to deal with, and Maura…

"Oh, by the way," Dr. Small said, interrupting her thoughts. "When your discharge papers are complete, you still have to take the wheelchair out." When Jane opened her mouth to protest, as Dr. Small predicted she might, her cheery eyes narrowed and some of that fearsome menace edged back into her expression. "Just _do _it, Ms. Rizzoli. Save your good nurse the trouble of arguing with you. Besides, I'm sure you're all about the tough act—" She waved her hands mockingly, rolling her eyes. "—but you're less likely to get hammered with questions and demands by Dodge City if you play the sympathy card. And it will certainly be better for your recovery. I'd hate to see such a fine cop stuck at her desk while all the good cases slip by…"

Jane rolled her eyes at both the recurring references and threat, but saw the humor in Dr. Small's eyes and couldn't help the upward tilt of her mouth. "Fine," she said into an exaggerated sigh that hurt her ribs. "I'll use the damn wheelchair."

Bobbing her head in approval, Dr. Small rested her cool hand on Jane's ankle, looking as though she wanted to say something more, but only gave her a quick pat before moving towards the door with a "Get better soon, Detective" and a "Stay out of trouble!"

Jane considered asking her to stay, but then felt silly and only waved stupidly as the doctor took her leave. "Oh, and one more thing." Margaret paused in the doorway. "Good luck with your doctor friend." A knowing smile, and she was gone.

"…What?" Jane asked, a little too late to be heard. She furrowed her eyebrows as the door swung shut. _What was that all about?_

…

Jane heard Angela coming before she saw her: the indelicate clack of heels down the hallway, the emotional mumblings growing in volume, and the muffled apologies to the numerous nurses she probably almost trampled spelled Angela's progress towards Jane's hospital room door.

Jane sank back into her pillow as far as she could manage, wondering if she could disappear into the bleached cotton bedding. This was one of the worst parts of getting injured—facing a thick slab of love sandwiched between demands that she quit her job and the numerous spats of accusatory _Why-do-you-do-this-to-me?_

And then Angela's form filled the doorway, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her cheeks surprisingly tearless though she still had that motherly flush of exertion one got when they were concerned for their child.

"Oh, Janie!" Angela discarded the duffle by the door and stepped surely towards Jane, arms reaching out for contact.

"Hey, Ma." Jane tensed, wondering what kind of riveting and practical research Maura could offer regarding the theory that love could kill. Jane fully expected an unashamed, semi-suffocating hug and squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the pain it would cause, but had to pop one eye open in surprise when Angela simply laid both her hands over one of Jane's.

"Hi, sweetie. So good to see you're finally awake." She removed one hand to reach behind her and pull forward and rather thinly cushioned visitor's chair, settling into it with a soft groan.

Jane had to catch up with this strangely uncharacteristic Angela. "Uh… thanks. Me too." She scrutinized her mother's face. Where were her usual theatrics? "You okay today, Ma?"

"Course I am." She gave Jane's hand a light squeeze. "I served coffee. I made some pancakes, a couple omelets. I wasn't the one locked in a trunk by a _mad_ man and beaten into pulp today." There was a slight narrowing of eyes as she said this.

Better, but, still… where was the raised voice? The badgering questions? The endless avowals that she would find and maim whoever it was that did this to her daughter? Jane almost forgot to roll her eyes, still concerned about the subdued nature of her mother's reaction.

She absently found a comfortable, sarcastic response and snorted. "I'll take that over Stanley any day, Ma."

Now it was Angela's turn for an eye roll, but she grinned. It was always good to have confirmation that her Janie was still her Janie. She swept an appraising gaze over her daughter, her chest releasing some tension when she verified the doctor's words, that Jane's wounds were for the most part just bruises and she would make a full, quick recovery. "How are you feeling?"

At the question, it was Jane's turn to give herself a onceover. The pain in her ribs was edging away from its previous descriptor of 'pretty uncomfortable' and making bounds and leaps towards 'pretty damn painful.' Her head pulsated loudly with each beat of her heart as blood pumped through the constricted veins there. She could feel the bruises on her back as muscles there twitched and she didn't want to picture the ugly purple-yellow that half of her body would turn to by tomorrow morning. Taking all of this into consideration, she looked squarely at her mother and answered with a tight grin, "Fine."

"Yeah? That's great, sweetie."

Jane waited, but her mother didn't call her out on her obvious enriching of the truth. She didn't even press her for more information. _Okay… where's the real Ma? _It was beyond unlike her. Normally, she'd be asking about every single bruise, cut, scrape, and hangnail.

Angela missed the chagrined look on Jane's face and glanced at the door. "The others should be on their way over pretty soon. Frankie showed up with some people and some information a little while before Dr. Small came by to let us know we could see you, so he's been filling them in on some things about the case, I guess. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Huh. Well I'm glad at least _you_ thought seeing me outranked hearing more about this screwed-up case…" She trailed off, her own words coaxing out a question that had been nagging her. "Speaking _of_, Ma," she began with a suspicious edge, "why weren't you in here when I woke up?" _Why no bone-crushing hug? Why aren't you asking me any questions?_

"Hmm?" Angela turned back to face Jane. "Well, they told me they wanted to try waking you up and running some tests."

Jane waited for more, and when none came, she pressed, "And you _didn't_ insist on being in here for it?" Sure, it almost always annoyed the hell out of Jane that nearly every time she woke up in a hospital, her mother was there, worrying, fussing, demanding that she change her life and move in with her mother and stop taking so many risks and get married to a nice man and settle down… and so on. But Jane had been through fucking _hell_ today, and she found herself somewhat hurt that her mother hadn't been there to wake her up, to smile soothingly at her. Instead it had to be cheer-squad Dr. Small… which hadn't been so bad. But still. It was the principle of the matter.

Angela shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, suddenly finding the off-white ceiling tiles very interesting. "You're a big girl, Janie. They told me that you seemed to be fine at the scene and that the unconsciousness was almost definitely due to, uh… stress-related fatigue, I think." She smiled, though Jane caught the bashful guilt creeping into her expression. "See? And you're fine."

Jane spent a few moments dissecting her words and studying her face for hints before flatly asking, "So, where were you, then, Ma?" _Is something out there equally or more important to you than me?_ she thought selfishly. Was Tommy in some kind of trouble again? Had Frank Sr. made some kind of inopportune appearance? Jane was prepared to be hurt, prepared to be angry.

Angela patted Jane's hand nervously, her eyes continuing to trace the tiles in the ceiling. "Well, honey, Maura came in before you and had lost a lot of blood, so I—Well I made sure to keep sending Tommy over to check up on your status, but the doctor said you would be just fine and wanted to run tests anyway, so…"

Jane instantly forgave her mother, the hurt that had been bubbling underneath the surface dissipating completely. Angela had decided to go to Maura first because her condition was less certain, and probably because she needed Angela more than Jane did. That was the kind of decision a mother had to make between two people she loved equally. It announced to the world that Maura had wormed her way into Angela's heart, right at the center of the Rizzoli family, for good—for better or worse. Jane's heart nearly burst with new feelings. It meant so much to her, how seamlessly and enthusiastically Angela had grown to love and care for Maura and take on the role of surrogate mother. It made Jane proud to have introduced a truly mothering figure into Maura's life, and a girly, considerate daughter into Angela's. Both of them deserved as much.

Jane pulled out of her thoughts to find Angela staring at her anxiously, waiting for Jane's reaction with held breath and a lip caught between her teeth, which only served to choke Jane up more. _I can't believe she's worried I might be upset with her for staying with Maura._ She stared levelly at her mother, somehow finding her voice. "You were there when she woke up?" she almost whispered, voice thick with gratitude, among other emotions.

"Yes," Angela responded just as quietly, releasing some air with the admission. "The first thing she said was, 'How's Jane?'"

Jane blinked back the tears that sprung to her eyes. "Oh," was all she could say about that. _Maura…_ She stared into her lap. "Where is she? Is she…?"

"She's okay. She's—"

And then there was a quick rap at the door before Tommy strode in, rushing to give his sister a quick peck on the cheek. "Hey sis, how are you feeling?"

"H-hey Tommy. I'm okay."

Frankie and Frost were next to come in, tailed by a middle-aged couple and a short man in a lab coat. All opportunity for private conversation was quickly lost as Jane's eyes cycled through her new visitors, somewhat concerned as she took in three complete strangers.

…

Maura found herself hanging back as the others filed out of the waiting room to see Jane. Just one moment ago, the only thing she had wanted to do was see her beloved friend. Now, when that was finally an option, a veil of nervousness suddenly descended upon her, dense and suffocating. At first she was too flustered by the immediate question—go or stay?—to sift through her internal conflict and find its source.

Instead she remained standing awkwardly by the door, one hand clenched over her chest as her brain turned over, stalled, sputtered off, and started again like a faulty engine. The nervousness was one of the numerous illogical feelings she'd been having all day. _Yes, it's illogical. This is illogical._ But acknowledging that did nothing to spark motion into her legs; try as she might, she couldn't get herself through the waiting room door. It sat before her an obstacle, growing greatly out of proportion in both size and meaning. The room fisheyed and shrank before it, as if the lowly benches, chairs, and scuffed-up coffee tables were no match for its intimidating height.

"Doc?" It was Korsak, poking his head around the doorframe before reentering the waiting room. His voice snapped Maura back to reality, where the door was normally proportioned and the coffee tables had no consciences. "Where'd you go? Aren't you coming in with us?"

Maura blinked and took in a short breath. "Well…" She wrung her hands together. "Yes, I suppose I should."

"Something the matter?" Korsak stuck a hand in his pocket, the other straightening out his jacket as he studied the doctor's face, eyes flitting to the nervous motion of her hands.

"No. Yes. …I'm not sure." Maura flashed him a tense smile. "I'm… afraid… to go in there, I think."

Korsak's expression grew concerned. "Afraid? It's just Janie, Doc."

"I know."

"She's been worried about you."

"I know."

"She'll really want to see you."

Maura folded her arms over her chest and she felt the stitches in her shoulder protest at the movement. "Maybe."

Korsak narrowed his eyes at his coworker. "Something happened. Something happened in the trunk." _Between you and Jane. _It wasn't a question, but Korsak waited for Maura to confirm or deny anyway.

The blonde turned her head aside towards a magazine rack, absently scanning the covers of old publications. "A lot of things happened in the trunk. But I told you, I can't…"

"Then don't. Look, Dr. Isles, you don't need to tell me a thing about what happened in there for me to be sure about one thing. Jane _wants_ to see you." He shook his head and gruffly added, "You're probably the only person here she actually wants to see right now."

Maura looked up at Korsak, eyes glistening. "But what if—"

"That woman fought like hell to keep you alive, and safe. Who knows where she got the strength, but she got it, and she saved your life today, just like you saved hers, I bet."

Maura searched the older detective's kind face, wondering just how much he already knew without her offering any information. How could he possibly know what _really_ happened in the trunk? The moment of panic that hurt to remember, performing CPR when every piece of logic screamed against it—that it was too late, that it was pointless—and the processing of emotion, the coming to terms with the possible death that awaited them, the give and take of confidence, strength, and trust, the kiss that wasn't just sensual, it was _vital_, and the things said, the things left unsaid, the unanswered questions that burned in her mind and time, running out, slipping through fingers with far too much left to do and say and think and feel—_how_ could Korsak know anything about it?

Korsak watched Maura's expression begin to shift in the wrong direction and rushed to distract her thoughts from wherever they were going. "Doc. _Doc._ For a second, ignore the details. Right now, they're just not important. The fact is, Rizzoli didn't just save you for kicks, or for her principles, she did it because it was important for her to do it. Which means your life is important to her… which means _you're_ important to her. Okay? Can we agree that that makes sense?" He waited until Maura nodded slowly. "Look at the level of effort she put in to keep you alive and with us today. I don't care what happened between you two. It doesn't take an old detective like myself to know with one-hundred percent certainty that, no matter what was said and done, if you don't walk into that hospital room, Rizzoli is going to be one unhappy camper. And if Rizzoli isn't a happy camper, that's going to make the job of getting her statement a hell of a lot more difficult." He paused, glancing at the ceiling. "—Although, that shouldn't really be your motivation for going in there. You should just go in there. Period."

Maura felt a faint smile on her lips, relieved as his words worked to abate her nervousness, albeit only slightly. She took a deep, cleansing breath. "Right. I should go. And if she doesn't want me to be there…"

"She does," Korsak answered quickly. "But if for some reason she doesn't, I'm going to need you to hold her down while I knock some sense into her, so you should stick around anyway. See, either way, you need to be there."

Unable to prevent the quirking of her mouth corners at the conjured image and the flawed logic (there would be numerous other fit and able people in the room to assist Korsak with his beating, as it were), Maura tried to hide her reaction by raising a fist to her mouth and clearing her throat. She smoothed her hands over the clean clothing Angela had brought for her and then through her ruffled hair, squaring her shoulders as she mentally bolstered herself. "Sergeant Korsak?"

"Yeah."

"Later, after you talk to Jane, if she doesn't give you the full details, I can… well, if you'll keep it between yourself and the paperwork, I can fill in some of the rest—if it's necessary."

It took a short moment for Korsak to see Maura's words for what they were, a sign of trust, affection, and friendship, and he sputtered into a cough to cover up the blushing of his cheeks. "Well, we'll see what Jane tells us and go from there. But, uh, thanks." He turned quickly and motioned for her to follow him to Jane's room.

…

Almost as fast as Tommy came in the room, he was already saying goodbye, claiming he had to get back to his job but he would call later, and he was glad she was okay. And Angela was calling after him to make sure he drove safely while Frankie and Frost were both talking at Jane at the same time and then Angela was yelling at them to slow down and the strangers were talking and—the tired, wounded detective was quickly overwhelmed.

Jane was barely paying attention to her brother and partner as they introduced two of the strangers—the couple, middle-aged and pale. The woman was slightly hunched forward as if in pain, her face tear stained. The man, presumably her husband, had one arm around her waist as a form of support, but the lines on his face were weary and hardened. He was very tall and muscular, though his body was just beginning to show age. His broad shoulders, perhaps humbled by the state of his wife, were slumped forward. Together they looked like a sagging, defeated tree, once strong and tall, now too weak and dry to stand straight. They were looking at her with incredible weight, as though they expected her to decide their fate.

Jane's eyes left them, passing briefly over the third stranger, a very short, scrawny Indian man with thin glasses resting on the tip of his nose, before sweeping the room once again to confirm the only thing she was really concerned with at the moment.

"Where's Maura?" she asked, completely oblivious that she had interrupted Frost.

Frost glanced around the room, surprised himself to find that the doctor was indeed absent, before clearing his throat and narrowing his eyes at Jane. "She was right behind us. I'm sure she's coming. But Jane, Mr. and Mrs. Welsh don't have a lot of time before they have to leave. They wanted to talk to you briefly before you left."

Angela gave Jane's arm a reassuring squeeze. "She's probably just using the restroom, Jane. Why don't you hear what the Welshes here have to say? They don't know when Amy will come out of surgery…" And under her breath, just for Jane to hear, she added, "…or if."

Realization finally dawned on Jane and she returned her gaze to the strangers. Well, one stranger, one slightly more familiar than that. She had seen the mother before, briefly, when she came with Amy to the station. But unlike most mothers of younger suspects, Mrs. Welsh hadn't once tried to interfere or lend her daughter support. She had just waited by Jane's desk during the interrogation and left wordlessly with her daughter when Jane brought her back from the interrogation room. Korsak had been the one to check up on Amy's parents and their alibis, which had been rock solid, so Jane had never bothered talking to them herself.

Jane took a painful breath. She didn't really feel like speaking to them right now, but their ashen faces twisted her heart and seemed to make her ribs pulse more. "Okay. Are you here to ask about what happened to Amy? Because Dr. Isles would know a lot more about that than I do."

"No, Detective Rizzoli," Mr. Welsh said sternly, taking a moment to look around the room. "Although, we did wish for Dr. Isles to be present when we spoke to you. We're here to… thank you, and, apologize." His wife nodded her agreement with reddened eyes, clutching at her husband.

Jane swallowed thickly, shaking her head slightly in denial. "I think you've heard things incorrectly, or… or something. I didn't save Amy. Amy saved us. Amy saved my life."

Mr. Welsh glanced at his wife, as if confirming that this was still the right course of action. "We know that… and we are beyond proud of her."

Mrs. Welsh was looking at Jane as if she wasn't really sure where she was, or if this was real life. "Ted and I were out shopping when everything… happened. I can't say I'm surprised that Amy did what she did. Her ability to jump to action and ask questions later… well, she got that from her father." She glanced at her husband for a moment, a brief, heartbroken smile lighting up her features. "We had thought… all those years, when she was with… Trisha…" She trailed off with a pinched look, as if the dead girl's name were physically painful for her to speak out loud. "We'd thought it was that same brazen, 'do what feels right first and think later' attitude that convinced our daughter that who she was and what she did was okay."

"We disapproved." Ted Welsh's words were blunt and hoarse. "We never stopped disapproving. But it was our own… 'do what feels right first and think later' attitude that began this whole mess."

Jane's eyes widened as she slowly followed their words. "What… what did you do?"

Amy's mother let out a sob, and Ted ran a soothing hand over her back, his features cringing over his next words. "The party… the party where Trisha kissed the boy that caused the break up… Amy mentioned it a couple weeks before it happened. It was at the home of an old army friend of mine. He and his wife have a son, a smart, shy young man, about Amy's and Trisha's age. I… I don't know what we were thinking, at the time, whether we wanted Trisha to discover that she liked the boy, or boys at all, or whether we just wanted to create some kind of mistrust between them… But I do know we wanted them to break up. We wanted Amy to come back to us, to be… normal. Straight." He grimaced at the last word.

"What did you do?" Jane repeated, her voice flat. Angela's hand was gripping Jane's arm a little too hard, clearly hearing this story for the first time.

"We weren't too close with my army friend and his wife, and we talked about what might be able to come out of giving them a call. That's when we came up with the idea, but we were never going to act on it." He sighed. "But we were grocery shopping and ran into him at the supermarket. We were catching up, and he brought up the party, and I thought the coincidence was just… too perfect." Mr. Welsh dropped his eyes to the floor now, his wife's hand gripping the front of his shirt with white knuckles. "So I… I mentioned that Trisha, a… a friend of my daughter's, had a crush on him, and had it for a long time. I also mentioned that I knew her, and that she was a sweet girl."

"So…" Jane leaned back into the pillow, the heat of anger coursing through her. The intense feelings made it easier to ignore how her taut muscles made her bruises and ribs hurt more. "So the boy's parents passed that information on to their shy kid, and he got encouraged. Then Trisha shows up at his party, and he makes a move. Was the picture your idea too?"

"No!" Mrs. Welsh cried out. "No, we never thought that would happen. We never imagined any of this would happen! We wanted our daughter back, we wanted a-a bright future for her! But Trisha's death, and what happened today—I—" She cut herself off, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"We never meant for any of this," Ted reaffirmed in a whisper as he clutched his wife closer. "But it is our mistake. Our meddling, our denial, our misunderstanding of how deeply and why our daughter cared for Trisha. We are the… root of this tragedy."

Jane heard Angela's soft gasp next to her and glanced at Frost and Frankie. They both looked unsurprised, their eyes on the floor. _So they've already heard all of this._ Jane closed her eyes, absorbing all the new information, trying to sort out her own feelings.

"Harrison is a sick man."

At the sound of Maura's voice, Jane's head snapped up to find her. The doctor was leaning against the wall by the door next to Korsak. _How long has she been there?_ The blonde's eyes met the brunette's briefly before Maura pushed away from the wall to address the Welshes properly. Jane's eyes dragged over her figure, pausing at her heavily bandaged shoulder. There were a couple patches of purple on her arms and legs. parts of her throat were turning ugly colors as well. So many scattered bandages from where she had been cut by glass or something else. She looked exhausted and pale. But she was alive. She was alive and talking and walking and moving and breathing and thinking with that big, beautiful brain of hers. And suddenly the anger that had been building towards the Welshes disappeared.

"Harrison is a very, very sick man," Maura repeated as Mr. and Mrs. Welsh swiveled to look at her. "Perhaps your hand in this incident did lead him to Trisha inadvertently. But if it hadn't been Trisha, it would have been someone else. Harrison was looking. For people to save. For people to blame. While it is understandable that you feel guilty about what has happened, it would be irrational to blame you for it. There are certainly chains of events that could have led to this outcome without you interfering."

No one spoke for a moment as Maura's sage words settled like a coating of stirred-up dust. Even Mrs. Welsh had managed to stifle her sobs.

Eventually, Maura spoke again. "Instead of worrying about blame, or feeling guilt, you owe it to your daughter to try to understand her and love her as she wants to be loved by her parents. As it was explained to me, what she felt for Trisha was no different from what you feel for each other. And if your feelings for each other don't feel wrong, how do you expect Amy's feelings for Trisha to feel wrong? They wouldn't. They would feel right, and natural."

Maura stole a glance at Jane, and Jane thought, _Yes. They feel right. Is that what you're thinking?_ Jane marveled at how easily the doctor's words made sense, and she saw the beginnings of change on Mrs. Welsh's face. As the seconds dragged by in silence, the broken couple turned back to Jane, and it took the detective a moment to figure out they were waiting for her to offer some sort of response to their story. Blessings or condemnation?

"Go to your daughter," Jane finally managed, her head hurting from all the implications of the discussion. "It'd be easy to be angry at you. Really easy. But like Maura said… assigning blame just doesn't make sense here. So, there's no blame, and no need for you to apologize, certainly not for what happened to us. Sometimes awful things happen. Sometimes good things come from them. Just… learn?" She met the couples' eyes in turn. "Be good to Amy. Don't put your own wishes before hers."

The grieving couple muttered some final apologies and thanks and goodbyes before shuffling out of the room, leaving behind three somber residents of the Rizzoli family, a defeated-looking Maura, an uncomfortable Frost and Korsak, and one last mystery man, who was apparently getting impatient.

He rocked on his feet for a moment, and when that failed to attract any attention, he resorted to clearing his throat. "Pardon me, Miss," he quipped, his slight Indian accent breaking the silence. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have duties to attend to at my facility and I cannot afford to spend much more time here."

Jane glared at the man who seemed particularly oblivious to the mood in the room. "Uh, who are you again?"

"Jane!" Angela lightly slapped her arm. "You ought to address Dr. Gupta more politely. Who knows. One day you might need his services."

Frost, Korsak, and Frankie snickered. Even Maura had the beginnings of smile on her face, and Jane narrowed her eyes at all of them, wondering exactly how her mother had just insulted her.

The short man shrugged off Jane's rudeness, straightening out his shirt and cleaning his glasses on his coat as if preparing himself to address her again. "I am Dr. Rabindranath Gupta, from BMHI. Harrison Gatby was one of my patients in the psych ward before he… left. I was notified by Officer Rizzoli that Mr. Gatby had turned up here, and I said to myself, Rabindranath, you need to go see what your patient has gotten himself into."

Jane glowered as her mother's little mental stability joke clicked. "If Harrison is the result of his services," she said under her breath, "I think I'm better off on my own."

Trying to refrain from snickering, Korsak explained. "Dr. Gupta here has managed to clear up a lot of the mystery surrounding Gatby. We figured you deserved to hear it from him directly, instead of through one of us. Putting Dr. Gupta's account together with what Dr. Isles found in the morgue and what she heard Harrison say today, we think we solved the case, dotted our i's and crossed our t's." He grinned, wagging his eyebrows. "So, Jane, you interested?"

"No," she huffed sarcastically, still miffed and unwilling to cooperate. She was so tired, it hurt. She just wanted to go home. Go home and… Her eyes found Maura's. She looked just as tired as Jane felt. Jane raised her eyebrows in a question: _I guess talking to you will have to wait until later?_ Maura nodded a silent confirmation.

Dr. Gupta glanced at Frankie with a frustrated expression. "Officer Rizzoli, if she is not interested—"

"Relax," Frankie grinned, giving him an overly hard pat on the back that nearly knocked the glasses off of his face. "She's just kidding. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

…

_Continued in chapter 9, Case Closed. Shut Up and Kiss Me_


	9. Case Closed - Shut Up and Kiss Me

Hi guys!

I'M SO SORRY! This took absolutely forever to finish. First, because my thesis is death. Second, because I wrote out an entirely different ending from this one and, busy with aforementioned thesis, was literally rewriting this chapter a couple sentences at a time. I promised a lot of you to get this out sooner (thanks, those of you who PMed me, for not beating me with a mace for not sticking with my misguided "oh just a little bit longer" time frame) and obviously, that didn't happen.

Anyway, it's late, and I tried to find typos, but there are almost definitely quite a few nestled in there, so I apologize! Hopefully it's readable, and hopefully, it matches up with all of your expectations (or, you know, exceeds them). I'll try to do a read-through for typos at a later date.

Thank you ALL so much for sticking with me! And new readers, I hope you've enjoyed.

Without further ado, the end(?)!

…

Chapter 9: Case Closed. Shut Up and Kiss Me

…

The picture Dr. Gupta painted for those crowded in Jane's hospital room was a horribly tragic one. A certified genius, Harrison Gatby was responsible for making government networks, and later BCU's network, among the most secure networks in the world. He was considered a cold, logical, and calculated man by his peers—that is, until he met Lorraine. She was an electrical engineer in charge of constructing and managing different government systems. They met by chance, but Harrison was a changed man for it. Together, they quit working for the government, moved to a home in the suburbs, and devoted their time to the university from which they both graduated. He was wholly focused on being a loving husband, and they were ready to start a family.

Even the car accident did not break Harrison. He was convinced that everything would be okay, if he could just be there for Lorraine. But he did not realize that Lorraine had been broken the night of that car accident. An autopsy conducted after Lorraine's suicide revealed an abnormality in her brain. It wasn't the loss of her feet that led to her death, but Harrison was not sane long enough to learn that.

Upon the death of his wife, Harrison was never the same. "He lost his muse," Dr. Gatby stated simply. He voluntarily checked into Boston Mental Health Institution, where he obsessed over his late wife's lack of mobility and began semantically connecting all of his issues to it. Fixing the lack of mobility would fix him, and then he could fix his wife. But he slowly degraded as the months progressed. He began to seek out anything or anyone that needed fixing. "At first," Dr. Gupta said, "this seemed like progress. He wanted to help with the other inpatients, whether that meant talking to them, or finding lost puzzle pieces, or fixing the uneven legs of a table. But no amount of helping brought him peace, and soon his methods of fixing became methods of harming."

Harrison never harmed another patient, but his words worried Dr. Gupta and the other psychiatrists in his ward. He spoke of removing obstacles to "clear the way" to finding solutions. "This was a verbal expression of the obstacles Mr. Gatby saw in himself, in his own mind, that were only clouding his judgment further. On some level, he knew this. In his moments of clarity, I was nearly convinced he was ready to leave BMHI. It was not so. He began to tear out his own hair, a coping mechanism, and he would collect it as if it held some kind of symbolic value. Shortly after that, he started having frequent schizophrenic episodes."

"This all makes sense," Maura muttered out loud, connecting Dr. Gupta's analysis to the own pieces of evidence she had collected from her experience with Harrison.

Jane glanced at her, then set her dark eyes back on the doctor. "That's great and all, but I still don't understand this. If you were so convinced Harrison wasn't ready to leave BMHI, why did you release him?"

"Good question," Korsak said gruffly.

"I did not," Dr. Gupta replied, arms crossed. "Harrison Gatby released himself." At the blank stares he was getting, he added, "Let me explain."

"That would be swell," Jane grumbled.

"Harrison, like most inpatients in my ward, was allotted an hour of internet usage every few days."

Frost nodded. "That's how he found Trisha. I found the messages they sent back and forth to each other on a forum."

"So Trisha reaches out to an online community for help, explaining her situation," Korsak said. "Most people on the site probably ignored her, because she was just experiencing the heartbreak and emotions lots of people feel after a break up."

"Right," Maura stepped forward, "but Harrison saw that as an opportunity to fix something."

"Yes," Dr. Gupta nodded, "that is exactly it. Harrison believed that by fixing that girl's situation, it would bring him closer to fixing his own."

Jane sighed impatiently. "That still doesn't explain how he released himself from BMHI."

"Once Mr. Gatby decided when, where, and how he was going to help the girl, he used his next hour of internet time to hack into our own system. He knew I would be on vacation—"

"You inform your patients when you'll be on vacation?" Frankie asked skeptically.

"It's recorded in the system. Everything is recorded in our system, employee hours, the rotation of doctors, who is supposed to be where and when. He had full access to all of it and introduced a release date for himself. He even went as far as scheduling a visiting doctor to be the one charged with releasing him. Essentially, no one knew he was gone until I returned."

"You didn't report him missing?" Jane asked.

"I did. But no court had mandated his presence in our ward. He interned himself voluntarily. He was never under arrest for anything, and his release papers were all in order. The officer I spoke with said I had no legal grounds with which to force him to return."

"Didn't you inform the officer that he was a danger to others?" Maura asked incredulously.

Dr. Gupta nodded fervently. "I did. The officer said he could search for Mr. Gatby if the release paper situation could be unmuddled." He huffed with frustration. "The forensic coder is still at BMHI, trying to figure out how Mr. Gatby hacked our system."

"But Gatby's a genius," Frankie said, shaking his head. "That forensic coder will probably never find a trace that Gatby was ever there."

"I was in the middle of getting a court order, using Mr. Gatby's patient file as evidence, to convince the police to look for him regardless of his release papers when all this happened," Dr. Gupta sighed. "I was doing everything in my power, short of driving the streets of Boston to look for him myself."

"This is awful," Angela spoke up, eyes downcast. "And that poor girl Trisha, poor Amy… why were they involved at all?"

Jane let her head fall back against her pillow, suddenly more exhausted than she had thought possible. "Bad luck, Ma. Just… really bad luck."

…

Angela slung the duffle bag full of dirty clothes over her shoulder. "You know, they have soccer moms, and they have dance moms… I think I've turned into a hospital mom." She threw her hands up with flourish, scowling at Korsak and Frost as she brushed past them into the hallway.

The two detectives glanced at each other, smirking, before returning their attention to Jane's struggle to get out of bed. "Need anything, Jane?" Frost asked.

Jane groaned as she finally slid into the wheelchair Maura was holding for her. "Nah, thanks." She smiled at them. "You guys did good work today. Saved our asses."

"You two saved each other," Korsak corrected quietly, a smile on his face.

Jane stiffened, feeling the heat of Maura at her back as the coroner began to wheel her out of the room. How much did she tell Korsak? His smile seemed innocent enough. She wanted to turn around and read Maura's face, but she couldn't even imagine what kind of pain twisting in the wheelchair would cause her already mangled body.

The four made their way slowly down the hall. Frankie had gone to get the car, Angela was waiting by the elevator, and everyone else 'in Dodge' had departed. No one said anything for a moment as the elevator doors slid open.

Eventually, Frost cleared his throat. "Rest up, you two." He waved as Maura backed Jane onto the elevator.

"Keep us posted on Amy," Jane said as the doors began to close. "And… Harrison," she added hesitantly.

"Will do, Rizzoli."

The doors shut, and the elevator departed for the ground floor. Korsak let out a long breath of air, finally able to accept that things might just be okay… Jane was okay, Dr. Isles was okay, everything would be okay.

"What a day," Frost muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Damn straight." Korsak scratched at the stubble on his cheek. "Hey, you notice that Rizzoli didn't even put up a fight when they brought the wheelchair in?"

Frost snorted. "They must've drugged her up." He shrugged. "Or she's really tired."

"Psh, that hasn't stopped her before!" Korsak shook his head, turning towards the wing where Amy was in surgery. "I don't think so. Something happened today, Frost."

"Well they _did_ almost die."

"Nah." Korsak rolled a stiff shoulder. "They've have close calls before. This is different. Did you see Jane's face when I said that they saved each other?"

"Yeah. She looked distracted."

"I think she looked scared," Korsak muttered. "I think this one really hit home."

Barry glanced thoughtfully at Korsak. "Think it's got something to do with Dr. Isles?"

"Something happened today that freaked Janie out. My gut says she made some kind of decision, and now she's got to figure out what to do with it."

"So…" Frost pressed.

Korsak grinned. "I think it's got a hell of a lot to do with Dr. Isles."

They walked in silence for a moment before Frost said, "So about that bet we were going to make earlier…"

…

_Wake up, Jane._

The hand on her shoulder sent the detective flying forward with a gasp, then a groan as the pain the movement caused caught up with her. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to frighten you," came Angela's voice beside her, apologetic.

Jane cracked open her eyes, trying to remember where she was. Still in the backseat of Frankie's car, parked in front of Maura's home, her mother's bottom hanging out into the street as she leaned into Jane's side of the car. Frankie stared back at her in the rearview mirror. "Have a nice nap, Janie?"

Jane ignored him, instead trying to straighten out sense of time. Was it evening? She glanced at the radio console. It was almost 11:00 PM. "Oh, we're already here?" she asked belatedly.

"Mhmm, Angela nodded beside her. "We just dropped Maura off… but we didn't know if you wanted to stay here tonight, or go home…?"

Jane sat up a little straighter, more alert as the question was posed. "Where's…" she began to ask, but she found her, somewhat hidden behind her mother's form where she stood in the front doorway, waiting. Jane couldn't get an accurate read on the doctor's face in the darkness and she swallowed, uncertain.

Angela glanced between the two girls, then threw a wary glance at Frankie before suggesting, "Why don't you stay here? You're not exactly in once piece, and if you're here I can keep an eye on both of you."

"Well…" Jane trailed off. She wanted to stay. She needed some time with Maura, to figure things out. But the prospect of doing that now made her nervous… or terrified, was more like it. "Is Maura okay with it?" she asked quietly, looking at her mother.

Angela glanced at Maura, who cocked her head curiously. "Is Jane asking whether it's okay to stay?" she called over. "It's okay. Please stay here tonight." The doctor turned and disappeared into the house.

"You heard the lady," Frankie said, throwing open his door and coming around to Jane's side of the car. "Need help getting inside?"

"No, thanks," Jane said, gritting her teeth and pulling herself into a standing position. She swayed on her feet and felt Frankie put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Eyes on the empty doorway, she walked stiffly up the front steps. The last time she had left this house, it was in the middle of the night, and it was with the knowledge that she would be leaving Maura behind, alone, and sad. She had been a coward, and a pathetic excuse of a friend. She stilled on the threshold, peering into a place that was as familiar to her as her own apartment.

"Go on, Janie," Angela whispered behind her. Slowly, as if testing if the ice was strong enough to hold her, Jane stepped into Maura's home. She could practically hear the ice cracking. She didn't deserve to be here.

Maura appeared from the hallway to the guestroom. "The bed is ready from when…" She trailed off with an apologetic smile. "Make yourself at home, Jane. I think I'm going to take a bath and turn in."

"Wait!" Angela brushed past Jane, "Don't you need anything? Are you hungry?" She followed Maura into the kitchen and Jane watched as her mother badgered the poor doctor with a cup of this, a bowl of that. Only half listening to her mother's banter, the brunette ventured further into the house, still wary of just how much she shouldn't be there.

Once glance at Maura told her she needed to interrupt the tenacious matriarch Rozzoli. "Ma," she barked with what little spunk she had left in her, "leave her alone, we both just need a good night's sleep."

Maura flashed Jane a tired, but appreciative smile as she laid out Bass's overdue dinner. Angela glanced between the two of them. "Fine, but I'm going to cook you both a massive breakfast tomorrow morning and you're going to eat every last bit, you hear me?"

"That's unnecessary, Angela, but I'm sure we'll appreciate it more in the morning," Maura said diplomatically. "If either of you need anything, please—"

"We'll get it ourselves, Maur, don't even worry," Jane said before she could stop herself. She couldn't help but smile at the fact that, even after a day like this one, Maura still had it in her to be a gracious host.

Maura's smile was tentative in return. "Okay." She filled a glass with water. "Goodnight, then," she said to both of them, disappearing towards her room.

Jane stared after her, listening to each step the doctor took, wincing even at the soft sound of Maura's door closing. She let out a shuddering sigh. Things felt so…. broken. This wasn't right, nothing about it felt like it had ended properly. They had solved the case, and there was no way the murderer would ever hurt anyone else, but this wasn't the victorious homecoming she was used to. She felt like a stranger in the house she spent half of every week in.

"Well don't just stand there," Angela huffed, jarring Jane out of her thoughts, "Let's get you to bed." The woman herded her daughter through Maura's house, straight to the guestroom. "Get changed, I'll go fetch you some water and your pain killers. Do you want to shower?"

Jane moaned at the idea of delaying Maura's heavenly guest bed for even another minute, but she was most definitely foul and could easily ruin Maura's sheets if she didn't at least remove a layer or two of grime. "I'll take a quick one, just a rinse."

"Alright, sweetie. Don't forget to keep your bandages dry." Angela disappeared down the hall as Jane stiffly trudged into the guest bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Stripping was a painful labor, as was shoving her unruly hair and the bulky bandage into a shower cap, but as soon as she stepped into the steamy water she knew it was worth it. Slowly but surely, the heat worked into her sore, stiff muscles and took away the worst of the aches.

In that moment, she allowed herself the mercy of thoughtlessness, and it was bliss. Just the water, just the relaxation, just the feeling of normalcy and habit. And then, thought smacked into her and she gasped, eyes snapping open within the stream of hot water.

_Today, Jane, you almost died. No, you were dead. Your heart stopped. You were on your way out._ The last words echoed in Hoyt's voice, and she shivered, suddenly cold even in the heat.

Maura. Maura had saved her. Maura had worked against all odds to bring her back. And even before that, Maura had the guts to be honest about their relationship, about her motives, about everything. She had put everything on the line. _And I'm supposed to be the goddamned detective, with the badge and the gun, the fearless one._

Jane shut her eyes against the tears, reaching out and turning off the water.

…

Angela was waiting on her bed when Jane emerged from the bathroom. She smiled at her daughter, wordlessly standing and pulling aside the covers.

"Thanks, Ma," Jane said quietly, flashing her mother the most grateful smile she could muster. She accepted her mother's help sliding into the sheets, chuckling quietly. "It's been, you know, at least a few years since you've done this." She groaned in appreciation as she settled back into the stacked pillows.

Angela smiled. "I remember the days when you used to demand that I come tuck you in!" She gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, handing Jane a glass of water and her painkillers from the nightstand. "You always wanted the same kind of stories, with heroes and villains. I guess I should've figured you would end up in law enforcement."

Jane threw back the pills and drank a few gulps of water before responding. "Well if that didn't spell it out for you, I thought me n' Frankie's endless games of cops and robbers with the neighborhood boys might clue you in." She handed the water glass back to her mother. "I always hated being a robber," she said absently.

"Mhmm." Angela switched off the lamp beside the bed, the only light in the room emanating from the hallway. She shifted as if about to stand, but stared at her daughter for a long moment, eventually earning her daughter's attention.

"Isn't this the part where you kiss me goodnight, wish me sweet dreams, and let me get to sleep?" she asked with a touch of humor, even though tiredness dragged on her words.

"Well…" Angela trailed off, as if trying to find the courage to say something.

Jane stiffened. "No, Ma, whatever you're going to say, it can wait. I'm so… _so_ tired." That was half true. But the other half of it was, she could tell she was about to hear something she didn't want to.

"No, Janie. No." Angela's hand snatched Jane's with restrained urgency, surprising her daughter to silence. Her older, worn fingers rubbed around Jane's scar as she searched the bedspread for words.

Jane waited, something in mother's voice telling her she should listen, even if part of her balked at the idea. Maybe she was too tired to put up a fight. Or maybe something about her mother's demeanor frightened her.

When Angela began, her soft words bore the weight of experience and admiration. "You've spent… so much of your life fighting. You had this goal… this goal to serve people, to help them and protect them, even if it meant putting yourself in danger, putting your life on the line. And baby, I am so proud of you, that you're a detective, that you're out there doing what you were born to do. Draw connections. Ask the right questions. Put away people who've done horrible things." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And you're so good at it… you're so successful, one of the best. I'd like to think you _are_ the best… at what you do."

Staring at her mother with mixed emotions, Jane couldn't bring herself to respond as Angela took a moment to think. Where was this coming from? Why today? Why _now_?

Angela spoke again, her voice even softer. "I know I don't admit this often enough, but, even when it makes me nervous and I worry about you _every_ day, I love that you do that, that your job is your life. I love who you are. You're my only daughter and I wouldn't touch God's, or whoever's decision it was to make it that way."

Angela licked her lips, a movement Jane knew to be one of her mother's tells. Whatever she was about to say would be very difficult to get out. Jane tensed, expecting—expecting what, exactly? She really had no idea.

"Like I said," Angela continued, "you've spent your whole life fighting to get the things you wanted, things you deserved. Your badge, your independence, your place in the world. You've done so _good_ for yourself. And I know I've harassed you here and there about the things I thought you should have that you don't, things I thought you should be that you aren't." She met Jane's eyes now, her own a challenge to read in the dim lighting. "I've never had to push you to follow your dreams… I've never, _ever_ had to tell you to go out and get the things you really want, the things you _know_ you want. You've always gotten to where you need to be on your own. But now, now I see my Jane right there, so close to where she needs to be right now, one step from reaching out and taking one more thing… one _big_ thing that you deserve, that you've earned, that I think you'd really suffer without. No, no I _know_ you would. You're close enough to touch it, and, yet, here you are, you're letting it go."

Jane furrowed her brows, simultaneously understanding and refusing to understand the point her mother was working hard to make. She tore her eyes away. "But… I'm not…"

She couldn't finish her thought, because, she was. She _was_ letting it go. This… thing, with Maura. Whatever it was that had suddenly developed between them… no, that wasn't right. It wasn't 'sudden.' The realization was sudden, but Jane could trace back into her memory, for as long as she dared to remember, idiosyncrasies in her relationship with Maura that had never accompanied any prior relationships, simple friendships or otherwise.

There had always been that… sinking jealousy when Maura spent a lot of time with someone else. That had easily been passed off as jealousy that her only close female friend wasn't available for an evening at the bar. That was an acceptable jealousy.

Then there was nagging feeling of absence on nights when Jane spent too much of her day alone and unoccupied. Like something in the room was out of place, or a piece was missing. Sometimes it struck Jane harder, morphing into a feeling like loneliness, but this she attributed to sleepless nights, and an empty apartment devoid of another warm body, like Casey, or even Agent Dean for that short while. That kind of loneliness was perfectly understandable. …How easily the empty feeling had dissolved the countless times she snatched up her cell and dialed Maura's number.

The hardest feeling to rationalize was the confusing flutter. Sometimes it was in her chest. Sometimes it was in her stomach. Sometimes it was in whatever part of her body that happened to be touching Maura. More often than not, those odd feelings made her nervous and were written off as Jane's own discomfort with contact. Too many criminals and experiences had violated her personal space, had forced her to mistrust people who got too close. They had trampled over what little semblance of tolerance she'd had for human contact, once upon a time, before she clipped the shield to her belt. Anyone in Jane's position, anyone having been in her shoes, might feel the same way.

But then there were the increasing number of flutters that felt… undeniably good… in spite of the anxiety that accompanied them. She'd felt them with Dean… and a lot with Casey. Those flutters were okay, but… the best of those flutters were a Maura-only experience, as much as Jane had tried to pretend this wasn't true.

And then… the incomparable content Jane felt in Maura's presence. It had become harder and harder to ignore, but Maura was Jane's _best_ friend. Jane _should_ feel content to be with her and spend time with her. As much time as she wanted. Even if that time seemed to… extend indefinitely into the future.

It would be simple to write off the kiss in the trunk as… a moment of weakness, or empathy, or confusion. It hadn't begun as something physical. Jane felt silly recalling her feelings at the time, but she knew it wasn't about kissing Maura, per se, it was more about… feeling her. Seeing her. Knowing her more… better… or, something. It had been something in Maura's eyes, something Jane had seen there all along but never really let herself look for and acknowledge. _Where do you draw the line between friend and best friend, between best friend and… what's the next step? 'More than friends?' Or 'lover' or 'partner' or 'girlfriend?'_ Did that kind of label matter? Why did it seem necessary for Jane's feelings to ascribe to a label like any one of those?

Her own answer was obvious. _Because how the hell am I supposed to know what I'm feeling if I can't put it into one of those categories? What if I'm… in love with her? What if I'm not, what if this is just…_ Jane felt like walls were closing in around her. So much depended on this. So much depended on her knowing what the hell was going on in her head and it was just too difficult, too hard, too impossible to sort through the myriad of every sensation Maura inspired in her.

And fuck, did all this mean… _Am I… gay? Bi? Lesbian? Shit._

Almost in a panic, Jane glanced around the room. It was her first instinct with issues of the heart. To avoid. To run. To get out and get far away.

But Angela's hand closed around Jane's wrist, the older woman waiting patiently for Jane's anxious eyes to finally meet hers. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered when she saw the tears slipping down Jane's cheeks. "I know… I know it must all be confusing. I mean, maybe I don't know quite how confusing it is." She glanced away in thought for a moment before a timid smile lit her face, where Jane realized that signs of age were growing more distinct.

"You know, honey, I never thought… I mean, I always thought that… that you would marry Casey, I think. I thought he was so right for you. So willing to see through you and love the real Jane, love the Jane you rarely show to anyone, or sometimes the Jane that's rarely even there. The one who's happy and comfortable, and smiling and not worried about how she looks or what she says, because she knows she's with someone who will understand no matter what. I thought you and Casey had that." She sniffed. "That Dean? Never liked him. And Grant, well I thought he might have a chance. But you and Casey, you…" She rubbed Jane's wrist absently. "But then Frankie mentioned something. A couple weeks… no, maybe a little under a month ago."

She paused, and Jane felt compelled to ask, "What'd he say, Ma?" Her voice was hoarse and uncharacteristically weak, and Angela reached up to wipe away a few of Jane's tears.

"He was dropping me off from work, and we were talking about you, because you and Barry and Vince had just solved another case I think, and he said, 'You know, Jane seems really happy lately.' And I hadn't really thought about it much before he said anything, but that got me thinking… Thinking that over the past couple years, but really over the past few months, you've been… really, really happy. Sure, the cases can sometimes get you down… I know this one did. But you've been so quick to perk up, to focus on the bright side, even if you have to do it in that… abrasive, sarcastic way you do." This earned a small grin from Angela's tired, bewildered daughter, and Angela felt encouraged by it. "Well so anyway, Frankie and I are talking and he also mentions that you'd been spending a lot of time with Maura. I think he just said it like something he noted, you know, just something about you since you were the topic."

Jane sniffled, a corner of her mouth tugging upward. "Just how long do you two go on about me, huh?"

Angela ignored her. "But then for whatever reason, the part about you being happy and you spending more time with Dr. Isles stuck with me." She smiled. "Call it mother's intuition. So then I started paying more attention. At first… I hate to say it Janie, but at first I didn't really like what I saw. Not because I disapproved of… you or anything, just… the image I had in my head of your future was with someone like Casey, and children."

She felt Jane's body go rigid beneath the covers and she rushed to continue before Jane got the wrong idea. "But, but then, as I kept watching you, I realized that everything my little fantasy future for you had with Casey, you could have with Maura, or, or anyone, really. Because you two, Jane…"

Angela shook her head in wonder. "You two fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. I didn't want to see what I saw at first, but it was so… so beautiful, Janie, the way you two interact is like… You know each other's habits. You don't even ask who's going to shower first anymore. Maura turns the game on for you because she knows the schedule—she's memorized it. She knows if a game's going to be rained out now before you do. And it's not like she'd watch it if you weren't around."

Jane hadn't considered that. "Well… I'd noticed, but I thought she was just…"

Arching an eyebrow, Angela laughed out, "Just what? She wasn't memorizing any schedules on my account, if that's what you think! And honey, she knows you so well. She'll tell me the dinner she plans to make for you and I'll warn her that you hate that vegetable, or you can't stand that kind of sauce, and she'll just smile at me because she already _knows_ and she's done something, changed the recipe, changed the ingredient, so that you _will_ like it."

Jane let out a small laugh. "I don't know _how_ she made okra taste good."

"See? And you made a face but your plate was all but licked clean at the end of that meal! Sometimes I think you two can read each other's minds. So many words go between you without either of you making a peep. And when I'm there, I'm usually out of the loop and have to ask you two what's going on. Like that time you up and went to a different restaurant because somehow, without asking, you could tell Maura was feeling queasy about seafood so we went Mexican instead. And I'm in the backseat wondering how and when _that_ happened."

"I remember," Jane grinned, her voice soft at the memory. It had just been the look Maura was attempting to keep off her face while Angela had been in the back seat, going on and on about grilled shrimp and steamed clams and broiled scallops. Of course Maura could see how excited Angela was about going out to a seafood restaurant and didn't want to spoil her mother's night. Jane, on the other hand, had had no qualms with changing course, if it would save Maura from feeling ill.

Even in the near darkness, Jane could see that Angela's face was positively radiant with love. "It's not even just some moments, Janie. It's every day, all the time. When you're at work, in the car, on a case, drinking at the bar, I started seeing it everywhere. When you two are sitting there on the couch, watching the game or a movie, I just see you glowing, Janie. You're glowing."

Angela let her words sink into the silence. She never thought she'd be the one to push her Janie towards this… she never thought it would ever be something she could understand, something she could see fitting into her daughter's life. This conversation was one she had been toying with in her head for a couple weeks now, when she finally noticed how blind Jane was to the happiness so close at hand. Ever the helicopter mother, Angela Rizzoli was for the first time she could recall hesitant to force a conversation with her daughter. But today clinched it. Today Angela knew it was time. As soon as Maura had opened her eyes in the hospital room, so weak and pale, as soon as those words —_How's Jane?_—spoken with such quiet urgency, left Maura's mouth as though they had been hanging there for too long, kept from release for too long, Angela's mind was made up. Because then Angela knew that's where Maura was too.

A shuddering sigh escaped Jane, bringing Angela to cup her daughter's cheek lightly. "Talk to her, baby. As soon as you can manage, talk to her. You need her and she needs you and what does anything else matter?"

Jane shut her eyes at her mother's touch, the act forcing a few lingering tears through her lashes to glide down her face. "I'm… _so_ tired." _Of this. Of being awake. Of thinking, Of not knowing._

"Okay," Angela whispered, leaning forward and planting a kiss on Jane's forehead. "I've said my piece. I love you, Jane, no matter what. Remember that. Go to sleep. There's always tomorrow."

Angela tucked the covers more securely around the detective before quietly slipping out of the room to let her daughter restlessly search for sleep.

…

If she had been awake to witness it, Maura would have been surprised to watch herself fall to sleep. As tired as she had been, there were still far too many things running through her mind when she finally emerged from a long bath, placed fresh bandages on all of her cuts, and slumped onto her bed. The previous night felt like ages ago. When was the last time things had been normal? She could hardly remember. How quickly things changed.

But sleep had woven its way through her troubled thoughts and taken her into a blissful slumber far sooner than she had expected. Unfortunately, her sleep was interrupted too soon by a thump. It sounded so much like the thump of Jane's body as Harrison threw her into the trunk of his car, and Maura lurched upright in a cold sweat. Heart thrumming, she waited, listening…

Silence.

Had she just dreamt it? She glanced blearily at her alarm clock, able to piece together that it was somewhere between 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning. Another minute of waiting, ears straining to hear any minute change in the quiet house, offered no new information. _It was probably a bad dream,_ she told herself even as she threw aside her covers.

She pulled a robe over her nightgown before quietly cracking open her bedroom door. It was just before she exited the hallway into the kitchen when she heard a very distinct, very _not_ dream-world _thump_.

She froze. _Harrison._ It was all she could think about. Why hadn't she made sure he was properly restrained before leaving the hospital? Of course he would escape if he lived. Of course he would come find them here, come to fix his own unhappiness. It would be a simple hacking job to find their addresses. No, Harrison probably already knew where they lived before coming to the morgue just the day before. _What do I do? _Maura swallowed back the panic. She could slip back to her room, call Detective Korsak or just dial 911—_but what about Jane?_ Maura bit her lip. _She'll be helpless, she won't be able to defend herself if he_—

She heard another sound, much closer now, cutting off her thoughts and saw the glint of steel peek around the corner. Taking a silent breath, Maura pawed against the wall until she finally found the panel of light switches and snapped one on, and—"Jane?"

Jane froze, mouth dropping open. "Maur? Jesus, I thought you were…"

Jane trailed off, and Maura offered a squeaked, "…Harrison?"

The brunette nodded, sheepishly staring at the knife in her hand. "We must both me on edge…" She flashed a nervous smile. "Guess I won't be needing this, huh?"

Maura took in the familiar sight of one of her kitchen knives. "A paring knife, Jane? Really? You would have had much better luck fending off Harrison with my premier Wusthof boning knife, or the chef's knife. Both are much better suited for causing bodily harm."

"Duly noted," Jane mumbled, rolling her eyes as she retreated into the kitchen to return the knife to the knife block.

Maura followed her around the corner, watching the detective's stiff, pained movements with a deprecatory eye. "Why are you out of bed?" she asked tiredly. "You should have called me, I would have gotten you whatever you needed."

Jane turned around, fiddling with her hands. "I was having a little trouble sleeping."

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah." Jane shrugged. "I just needed to walk them off."

Maura stepped closer, shaking her head. "Walk them off?" she repeated incredulously. "Jane, you're beaten and bruised all over, and you're obviously in pain. You know you could have called me if—"

"I needed anything, yeah, I know." Jane regarded the doctor silently for a moment, a remark about 'not being the one who got dangerously shot today' dying in her throat as a strange feeling forced its way through her other physical discomforts. This was an ache in her chest that condensed upon itself painfully the longer Jane stared at the disheveled doctor. She heard the doctor's next questions distractedly.

"How is your chest feeling? Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"Mm, no, the pain meds are doing okay," she lied. Maybe it was the shadow cast by the light Maura had turned on in the hallway, but the blonde looked too pale, and strained, and… beautiful. Jane drew in a small breath of surprise at that last thought. When would this ever feel natural, to see things this way?

Maura, normally confident and unconcerned with her appearance, fidgeted under Jane's scrutiny. The brunette suddenly had her poker face on, and Maura found herself unable to even guess at what she was thinking.

They stood like this for over a minute, the only sounds in the kitchen their shallow breaths.

Finally, Jane whispered, "I don't know how to do this."

Maura tensed. "Do… what?"

Jane pressed her lips together, holding back a jumbled tide of words. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing, not only for her own sake, but Maura's as well. She felt like a cornered animal, cornered by her own unavoidable thoughts that she wanted to clean and dress up presentably but they would inevitably tumble out and track mud everywhere.

Maura waited patiently, determined not to utter even one word that might make Jane more uncomfortable with whatever was going on inside her head. The seconds dragged out, the silence ringing in her ears.

But Jane just shook her head. She just couldn't do this. She stepped around Maura, walking stiffly back to the guestroom.

Bottom lip trembling, Maura stared at the place Jane had been standing, wondering what had just happened. Her shoulders slumped forward as the guestroom door shut. It was happening again. Just like before, even without saying anything this time, Maura had chased Jane away. She swung on her feet, suddenly remembering just how exhausted she really was, and found her way to the couch.

She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't handle this back and forth. She needed an answer, a rejection, anything at all! She needed… she needed Jane. Letting her head fall back against the cushion, she willed herself not to cry, and miraculously, she did not. Perhaps she had exhausted her tear ducts in the last twenty-four hours.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed as she sat on the couch, but the sound of footsteps startled her, and when she opened her eyes again, Jane was standing before her, unruly curls sticking out of her head bandages in a way that would have been comical if Maura wasn't so surprised.

"…Jane?"

"Maur, I can't do this anymore. I don't know… what… or how, or anything. I just don't know a goddamn thing, except," she paused, rubbing relentlessly at her scar. Eventually, she carefully lowered herself onto the couch beside Maura, meeting the doctor's wide eyes with uncharacteristic vulnerability. "Except, I love and care about you, Maur. You know that, you've known that for a long time, but all of a sudden I can't define how, and in what way, and how much."

Maura opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Jane plowed on. "But I can tell you _why_, Maur. I can write a list of all the reasons, and I don't think I'd ever finish it." She swallowed thickly, tears welling. "And I can tell you that I'm terrified, I don't think I've ever been so terrified. Of this, of whatever it means, for me, for us, for our lives—" Her voice cracked on the last word and she cleared her throat. "But I can't get you out of my head, and I don't think I've been able to for years."

She smiled nervously at the unchanging surprise on Maura's face, reaching forward to take the doctor's bandaged hands into her own. "I'm asking you to forgive me, for causing you so much pain and confusion, for reacting to this as badly as anyone could, and for being a horrible, god-awful best friend. Because I am so, so sorry. I don't know if I can ever fix the hurt that I've caused you. Last night, today, in the car, I…"

She swallowed, her voice dropping with her confidence. "We've been in situations like that before… where I thought we might really die. In the woods, holding onto you with your bleeding leg, knowing I would die if I had to leave you behind and resigning myself to the fact that I would die with you because of that. But even then, I had a little hope. We were together, and together we've survived so many things. You came through for me, for us, reminding me that I could still use Morse code. You saved us both, despite the blood loss, despite the pain you were in, despite everything stacked up against us."

Jane paused, taking a deep, calming breath and biting back a wince as her ribs protested. "Today, though… I was sure of it. I was positive that, no matter what little plan we came up with, he was just going to throw open the trunk and fire one into you, and then me for good measure."

Maura shook her head in a daze. "No, Jane, I've seen it before… with Hoyt, when he… You somehow came up with the strength. You fought off Mason even though you were pinned down and saved me from Hoyt, you saved us both."

"That time, maybe. There was space to move, and distraction to take advantage of. But today, we were helpless… _I_ was helpless." It came out with a hiss, as though the words were physically painful. "We were stuck in a trunk, nowhere to run, nothing to talk him out of it, no maneuverability, no weapons, no backup nearby… No, Maur, the only reason we survived today was because somewhere in Harrison's head, he didn't want to kill us. He wanted to be stopped."

"But…" Maura didn't know what to say. Jane was admitting to helplessness. Jane, always confident, always resolute in the face of danger, was openly admitting that sometimes, even when there was a will, there may not be a way. It was… heartbreaking, Maura realized. She wasn't even trying to cover this up with sarcasm, with a joke, nothing. "Why are you…?"

"Because, I owe this to you. I owe you the truth tonight. Because if I don't get this out now, after what we've been through, I may as well have died today. As helpless and hopeless as I felt in that car, nothing compared to… to when I figured out, laying there, that the _only_ thing bothering me was how much I would regret not being able to spend more time with you." She laughed at herself, at the ridiculousness of it. "I wasn't sitting there, worrying about death and what it would be like, or if it would hurt. I wasn't thinking about all the places in the world I still wanted to visit, or my promise to Ma that I'd finally spend some time learning Rizzoli family recipes, or, or who would take care of Jo." Her voice broke as the tears started.

"No, I was thinking about you. How horrible I felt about not being able to protect you. How much I wished I could understand what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. How much I needed to find some way to make things right with you, me, us, if it was the last thing I did."

She took in a shuddering breath. She was crying, Maura was crying, but somehow her last words slipped out more easily than she could possibly have imagined. "I have no idea what it means, or how to handle it, but I think I… I _love_ you, Maur. I love you, and as terrified as I am of it, I think it's one of the best feelings I've ever had."

And then the tumult of words stopped like floodwaters receding. The silence was thick. Maura's jaw quivered as she took in all of Jane's words and played them over and over again in her head. _She loves me. She loves me. She loves me._ Like a heartbeat, they came over and over and over again. She was swaying. Was it shock or exhaustion? Surely the latter. "I must be dreaming," she murmured to herself.

Jane smiled through her tears. "No, this is definitely not a dream."

Maura muttered on as though not hearing her. "Though if this is a dream, it is certainly more pleasant than the ones I've been having."

Jane frowned. "You've been having nightmares?"

Maura seemed to remember Jane was there. "This is a very realistic dream," she said to her. Reaching out slowly, she rested the palm of her hand against Jane's cheek. It was unbelievably soft.

Jane leaned into her hand, covering it with her own, and very softly repeated, "This is definitely not a dream, Maur."

The low timbre of Jane's voice made Maura blink. She stared at Jane for a long moment, tracing and retracing the curves of her face with her eyes. These curves she had memorized in nearly four years of friendship with this woman. This woman who had moments ago said… said… Maura's eyes widened. "Say it again," she whispered.

Jane knew exactly what she meant. Nuzzling the hand at her cheek, she said, "I love you." And again, "I love you." _When did this get so easy?_ She murmured it over and over and over again.

And Maura fell forward, her face finding the crook of Jane's neck, Jane's arms wrapping around her. "I need you," she whispered into Jane's neck. "I've needed you all this time."

"Me too, Maura," Jane managed, eyes shut tightly as she relished the moment. "Me too. For so long, I've—" And then Maura's lips thudded against hers, and Jane forgot everything she was about to say. She held them together, on Maura's couch, on the same couch that they'd shared for nearly four years, though never like this. This was something far different from what she had experienced in the trunk of a madman's car earlier that day. This wasn't about desperation, about time running out. This wasn't about anything. It needed no context. It was just the two of them. For that moment, Jane may have been perfectly healthy, no fractured ribs, no bruises and scrapes. All she felt was Maura.

All she felt was whole.

Maura had a little more context. She knew that Jane's lips on hers, Jane's hand tangled in her hair, Jane's unique smell, Jane's closeness—these were all things she had been sorely missing in her life. They had no parallel, not point of reference, and they overwhelmed each and every one of the doctor's senses. For that moment, Maura forgot everything she'd ever learned about love and sex and life. All she felt was Jane.

And finally, she felt whole.

When they did pull apart, neither said a word, because Maura had asked, and Jane had answered, and at least for now, nothing else was needed. Fighting against complete exhaustion, Maura stood and pulled Jane up with her, silently leading the detective through the living area. Jane switched off the hallway light as they passed the panel of switches. Maura shut the door of her room behind them, and not a noise could be heard throughout the house for the rest of the night.

When Angela quietly opened the door to the master bedroom the next morning, she was unsurprised to see that the bed was being shared, and pleasantly surprised to see her doctor flush against her detective. As noiselessly as she could, she closed the door and tiptoed back to the kitchen. Finding a notepad in one of Maura's kitchen drawers, she scrawled, _You kids call me when you wake up so I can make you breakfast, or I swear to god, you'll never hear the end of it._ Then, thinking twice, she added,_ That last part is directed at YOU, Jane._

Then she taped it onto Maura's fancy coffee machine, stole the instant coffee packets from where she knew Jane hid them, and retreated to the guest house the happiest mother in Boston.


End file.
